Energies and Ice Cream
by KateCyrus
Summary: “Is that it, Dean? Do you think you’re better than Skittles?” A bullet wound, a car wreck, and some one on one time with the trunk of the Impala- how much abuse will Sam have to take before Dean learns his lesson? Well... a lot.
1. Chapter 1

Hey there!

Not much to say about this story yet other than I'm hoping to combine some of the snarky banter from 'Cutting Humor' with the heavier angst of 'Control'. Oh… and I use the word 'fuck' a lot.

Hope you like it! Let's see how it goes…

**Energies and Ice Cream**

* * *

**CH 1**

Dean stood at the edge of the bed staring at his brother with an incredulous look.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked.

"What." Sam had just lied back on his bed, and was starting to get comfortable. "I'm eating an ice cream bar," he responded.

"Yeah, and where the fuck did you get it?"

"Um… when I went out."

"Where's mine?"

"At the store," Sam says dryly.

"So you got yourself an ice cream bar, but nothing for me."

"Um.. if I remember correctly… the conversation went a little like… 'Hey Dean, I'm going to the store. Do you want anything?'… 'Quiet Sammy. There's breasts on television.'"

"And?"

"And… I took that as a 'no'."

"You really are a dumb ass."

"Excuse me?"

"You should have known I'd want one."

"Sorry, but I'm not fucking psychic," Sam said, his annoyance building. Dean just returned a raised eyebrow stare.

"About shit like that. If you wanted ice cream, you should have said so."

"Sammy. What goes better with breasts, than ice cream?" Dean smiled, slightly amused with himself, slightly warmed by the idea of breasts and ice cream. "In so many words… I did say so."

"Right. Ice cream and breasts go together?"

"How the hell are we related?" Dean shook his head in disgust.

"Here, take mine." Sam held out his ice cream. "Just leave me alone."

"No. You can't buy me off with a half eaten ice cream bar. Fuck you."

"So what do you want from me Dean? You want me to go back out and get you your own freakin' ice cream bar?"

"Chocolate," Dean demanded, and threw himself back onto his own bed, "I refuse to eat that girly strawberry shit you're suckin' on."

"Fuck." Sam sighed, and glanced at the clock. "It's ten after midnight, I don't even know if they're still open."

"Sam, it's a convenience store. If it were closed… it wouldn't be convenient." Sam stood up in defeat, stopping to stare at Dean briefly, waiting for him to change his mind, or say anything along the lines of 'I don't actually expect you to go'. Finally, Dean did say something. "Be careful…" For a quick second Sam was taken aback by his brother's words of caution. Then Dean finished his sentence. "Don't let any of that strawberry shit melt onto the seats!"

Now that that was off his mind, Dean returned his total focus to the breasts. Sam sighed, shoved his melting ice cream bar into his mouth, grabbed the keys, and went out the door.

As Sam walked to the car he pulled the ice cream out of his mouth, scrapping as much off the stick as he could before tossing the rest into the trash. He got into the impala, shoved the key in the ignition, and then, just the sat there.

"What are you doing? You should have told him to fuck off and get his own damn ice cream."

Sam's anger quickly got the better of him. "Fuck!" He yelled at himself squeezing the steering wheel and shaking it. "Go back in there! Tell him he's a jerk and you're sick of his shit." Sam exhaled hard as he glanced up and caught sight of himself in the rearview mirror. Looking straight into his eyes, he began to notice the hurt he felt, and the anger dropped away. He continued to hold his own gaze, and thought to himself. 'You need to stand up to him. You need to tell him what you think instead of holding it in.' Sam turned away from the mirror, disgusted by his lack of strength.

"So go in and tell him," Sam chided himself softly. He stared out at the motel briefly, then moved full into defeat. "Yeah right." Sam started the car, and pulled out of the lot.

As he drove the car along the dimly lit back road, his thoughts continued to churn, and his anger began to return. "Maybe I wanted to watch breasts," he mumbled to himself. "Jerk, why does he always have to be such a jerk?" Sam continued to stew as a single thought entered his mind and exited his lips.

"I wish Dean would regret bossing me around and treating me like crap. I don't care what it takes. I want him to realize, I want him to be sorry." Sam focused on that thought for the rest of the ride. It was a really great thought… in theory.

Sam entered the small convenience store and headed to the deep freezer chest near the front counter. The store was completely empty, even the guy behind the counter seemed to be missing. Sam slid the top of the freezer open and stared down into a mess of assorted ice cream bars. "Damn it," he complained, and began digging through in search of chocolate. _'What the hell am I doing here?'_ He thought to himself. _'Vanilla… vanilla… Why didn't I just tell him to go fuck himself? Vanilla… I fucking hate him sometimes… vanilla… and I fucking hate vanilla'_… "Fuck."

Sam plunged his arm down into the freezer and blindly dug his hand around. _'Come on ya stupid psychic powers, kick the hell in!'_ He grabbed hold of a random bar at the absolute base of the chest. It was frozen fast to the bottom, but this didn't seem to deter him as he continued to claw and yank at it. Using all of his anger towards Dean, he finally ripped the bar free, pulled it up through the mess of other bars, and triumphantly held it out in front of him scanning the label for… "Mocha?"

Sam continued to stare at it. It was sort of mangled, there was almost a half inch of solid freezer burn coating its exterior, and the wrapper was faded and torn open at the bottom. Sam smiled deviously… "Perfect!"

Sam slammed the freezer door shut, and walked over to the checkout counter. Still no cashier. He waited for a minute, hanging back, looking around the store. It was totally empty. _'I should just leave,'_ he thought. _'Dean would leave. Dean's the damn reason I'm standing in an empty convenience store at 12:20 at night, with an ice cream bar frozen to my hand.'_ He sighed and glanced around again. "Where is this guy?"

Sam glanced behind the counter, and finally noticed something useful, a row of security monitors. He shoved the ice cream temporarily into his back pocket, then pushed himself up onto the counter to get a look. If he couldn't see the cashier in one of them, he was out of here. Sam leaned forward and strained his head to the left. He could see most of the monitors, and far as he could tell, he really was the only one in the store. He leaned further forward to get a look at the last one, it was a view of behind the counter. Sam looked into the monitor and saw himself teetering on the edge of the counter.

"I give up," Sam said with an exhausted sigh, and began to slide back down to the floor. As he shifted, he suddenly caught another image on the screen. It wasn't clear, but it looked like there was someone else behind the counter, someone else behind him.

Startled, Sam swung around quickly to find a guy sitting on the floor pointing a gun straight at him. Before he could react in any capacity, the gun abruptly went off.

* * *

As always, I really appreciate your reviews, so let me know your thoughts.

But either way, thanks for reading!

-Kate


	2. Chapter 2

Hey there!

I really want to thank everyone for the big response I've gotten on this story so far. 21 reviews for the first chapter is super cool! I wanted to write and thank everyone, but got crammed for time so here's a big thanks now to troubletwinintx, cutie-pie-rockchic, the Emerald Phoenix, melja, Degonda, SpiritWolf13, Darktales, supernatural fire essence, pmsdevil01, charmed1of2, Minako Mikoto, Bethany16, tennischik09, MatildaHummingbird, LoUdMoUtH87, SensiblyTainted, and supernaural fan. (And in answer to supernatural fan's question - this is set somewhere mid first season, so the boys are whatever age they are now.)

Also want to thank RosieCotten and Talon81 who began their reviews with "Holy Crap!" - I loved that!

To Miska, for plugging my story at the head of her chapter 7 for Freeze - if you haven't see it, check it out!

To Kaewi for her feedback and spelling corrections - I suck at spelling- always have - always will.

And to everyone else who flagged and read it!

So now enough with the thanks - you fucking get it - I'm thankful…  
now on with it!

* * *

**CH 2**

Dean sat in bed, his arms folded behind his head, staring at the television with a big smile on his face. "Yeah, I like breasts," he commented to himself as his phone began to ring. "Big breasts…"

_Ring. _

"Perky breasts.. "

_Ring. _

"Huh..." Dean tilted his head sharply to the side, trying to align his vision with the girl who was now hanging backward off the edge of a desk. "Breast that defy gravity…"

_Ring. _

Dean kept his eyes on the set, reached his hand over to the nightstand, and blindly patted around for his phone.

_Ring. _

Finally his hand came down on it. He picked it up, briefly glanced at it, flipped it open, and brought it to his ear.

"Hey," Dean answered curtly. A shaky voice came from the other end of the phone, hardly audible over the sound of the television.

"Dean… it's Sammy."

"No shit, I can read a monitor. What's up?" There was a pause of silence, then Dean strained to hear his brother's response.

"I need you to come down here," Sam said as he hesitated at getting to the point.

"Down where?" Dean questioned, most of his focus still contently locked to the set.

"The convenience store… I…"

"Sam," Dean interrupted, "if I'd wanted to go to the store, I wouldn't have sent you."

"Just…" Sam sighed, "how fast can you get here?"

"It's like a ten minute walk. At this rate, I could get there faster than you drove. But like I said, if I wanted to…"

"Dean, could ya cut the shit, and just get your ass down here?"

"I could… but I'm sort of in the middle of something." Dean finally turned his head back upright as the girl on the set juggled her breasts back into her bra. "And by 'something', I mean breasts."

"Dean," Sam pushed the name out in a 'cut the crap' sort of tone.

"Sammy," Dean blurted his brother's name out with the same infliction, mocking in response. "What?" Dean finally asked slightly annoyed. "Sam, what's so important that you can't figure it out for yourself?" Silence came through from the other end of the phone as Dean finally muted the television, not that what he was watching really needed sound in the first place.

* * *

Sam was lying flat on his back on the floor of the convenience store. Somehow, he had managed to keep the phone to his ear, despite his violently shaking hand. As he listened to Dean's last question, he stared up at the ceiling. The blinding florescent lights above him should have hurt his eyes, they should have involuntarily forced him to squint. Instead, his eyes remained open as the lights flooded downward, blanching his surroundings, making everything look surreal and foggy. He let the misty lights envelop him as he recalled the last few minutes. He remembered seeing the gun, and hearing it go off, and the way the pain had hit him and knocked him straight to the floor. He had never really passed out, but the back of his head hurt from where it had smacked the hard, title covered, concrete. He felt a slight and steady shake throughout his entire body, and although he knew logically it was probably just the feeling of shock setting in, it still scared him, and filled him with an emotional weakness that made him want to just pass out and let Dean deal with picking up the pieces. But Dean was being sarcastic, he was being difficult, he was being _Dean_. 

'_Tell him,' _Sam thought._ 'Just tell him. You're scared, and you need him to come get you. Say the God damn words… I've been shot. Three words Sam, just say them.' _But the words wouldn't come, instead, Sam continued to get lost in his thoughts, and stayed there until his brother's voice pulled him back to reality.

"Sam," Dean ended the silence impatiently, "you gonna answer me, or keep me in fucking suspense?" Sam's fear and pain quickly shifted to a back burner as he absorbed his brother's bitchy attitude.

"Forget it Dean," Sam said bluntly. His voice hit Dean's ear imbedded with a myriad of emotions, then, he hung up the phone.

* * *

Dean sat upright on the bed staring at his phone in total disbelief he had just been hung up on. "What the fuck was that? I wasn't _not_ going to come, I was just giving him a hard time." But as Dean bitched about the sudden hang up, something started to bother him. _'Why did he sound like that?' _Dean thought._ 'He wasn't just mad, there was more.'_ Dean sat calmly recalling the conversation from the beginning. Oddly, the thing that bothered him the most wasn't Sam's shaky tone, or his cryptic reluctance to tell Dean point blank what was going on, it was one word at the very beginning of the conversation, one word that Dean should have caught immediately as a sign something was up. 

_'Sammy. He called himself Sammy.'_ Dean stood up. "Something's wrong."

* * *

Sam continued to lie on the floor, gazing at the ceiling, the shut phone clinched tight in his hand. He retreated back into his head as the fear and pain returned. _'What are you doing? You hung up. You're lying here with a bullet in you, and you hung up. You're not punishing him, you're fucking punishing yourself,' _Sam let his uncontrolled thoughts argue it out in his head. _'No... NO! He's being a jerk. Fuck him and call 911. Let him find out from the hospital that he's a jerk.' _

As Sam opened his phone and began to dial, another wave of pain seared through him. He stopped abruptly and clinched his eyes shut waiting for it to pass. When the pain finally died away, Sam opened his eyes. The bright light of the fluorescents was gone, blocked, and he finally squinted as he tried to comprehend what he was looking at. Someone was standing above him, holding the gun.

* * *

Dean ran a hand nervously through his hair as he pulled his thoughts together. It took him about two seconds, then he went into action. He grabbed his bag off the floor, and threw it onto the dresser. As he rummaged through it with one hand, he dialed back Sam with the other. He felt inside the bag blindly until his hand hit what he wanted. Dean pulled the small handgun out and placed it on the dresser, he then continued to search the bag until he located the clip. He needed to load it, but was still holding the continuously ringing phone in his other hand. 

"Damn it Sammy, pick up." He pinched the phone between his ear and shoulder as he loaded the clip into the gun, then slid the gun into the back of his pants. Dean turned full focus to the phone. _'Come on Sam, quit screwing with me and pick up.'_ Finally, Sam's message came on. "Fuck." Dean flipped his phone shut, shoved it into his back pocket, and bolted out the door. Shortly after his feet hit the gravel driveway, he returned for his shoes.

* * *

Sam never noticed the phone vibrate in his already shaking hand. He simply continued to stare at what he couldn't comprehend. It was easiest to believe he was having an out of body experience. Unfortunately, he was on the wrong end of it. Instead of standing above his body looking down at himself, he was lying on his back looking up at himself, or at least someone who looked like him. Sam shook his head and let the phone slowly drift away from his ear. As his hand came to the floor, the phone slipped out and skidded smoothly across the blood coated tiles until it smacked into the check out counter. 

'_What the fuck? Why does he look like me?'_ Sam thought anxiously. Then his eyes caught site of the gun again, and he didn't care. Sam slammed his hands to the floor, pushed himself up, and managed to back himself slightly away before his entire upper body collapsed back to the floor in pain and exhaustion.

Whoever, or whatever it was that stood above him smirked slightly, then squatted down next to him, dangling the gun from one of his fingers.

"Calm down," he said, also sounding like Sam. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"You shot me!" Sam shouted.

"Yeah well, I sort of meant _besides_ that," he said leaning in closer.

"Keep away from me!"

"We don't have a lot of time, Sam," he stated calmly. Sam slowly took in the last word of the guy's sentence.

"How do you know my name?"

"Because I'm you… well, part you," he explained briefly.

"You don't have anything to do with me!" Sam argued, denying the possibility.

"I have _everything_ to do with you," he responded, his voice laced with slight resentment. "I'm here because of _you_." Sam stared at him. Whoever this guy was, whoever he _really_ was, his tone asserted a level of sincerity to his statement, enough to inject a new wave of concern into Sam's already stresses system.

Sam tensed and pulled away, but the guy dropped his tough expression and slapped Sam lightly on the leg. "Come on, I've gotta get you ready for when Dean gets here." A shiver ran down Sam's back at the mention of his brother's name.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Dean… you're brother."

"I know who Dean is… how do you?" He asked nervously.

"I just know," the guy responded as he stood and stuck the gun in his back pocket.

"Yeah well… Dean's not coming," Sam blurted, his previous emotions getting the better of him. The guy gave a small smile. "He's not," Sam insisted, a bit despondent, the hurt from the reality of it setting in.

"Tell yourself whatever you want, Sam," he said in a resolute tone, "but I have to get to work." He stepped behind Sam, grabbed him under his arms, and lifted him slightly. The pain hit Sam fast, and ruthlessly consumed his upper body.

"Ahh! Stop!" Sam cried out. His breath ran quick, and he gasped the request again. "Stop… please." The guy held still for a moment, then sighed.

"Hold it in kid," he ordered, then gave a harsh tug as he began to drag Sam to the back of the store.

* * *

Dean entered the empty convenience store. He huffed and held a hand to his side as he tried to catch his breath. _'Okay, so it was more like a ten minute run, than a ten minute walk. But we don't need to mention that to Sammy.'_ He wiped the sweat from his face and slowly approached the counter, stopping abruptly as his eyes caught site of the floor. There was a small pool of blood, and a long smear of blood trailing away from it which seemed to lead towards the back of the store. Dean stepped closer, drawing his gun, and stooped down to inspect the floor. In addition to the trail of blood, there were several bloody handprints smashed and smeared into the dirty cream colored tiles. He was about to stand back up when is eyes landed on an object tossed on its side, next to the counter. Dean reached out and picked up Sam's phone. It was covered in blood, and still open. Nausea tightened its way into Dean's gut. 

"Shit Sammy," he whispered, "what the fuck did you get yourself into?" Dean flipped the phone shut and slid it into his pocket. He stood up and slowly followed the trial of blood, making his way to the back of the store_. 'This better not be your blood. This better not be your damn blood.' _The trail ran down the isle, and finally lead to a closed door marked "Employees Only". Dean raised his gun and prepared himself for whatever might be inside.

He nudged the door open with his elbow, and cautiously entered the small stockroom. It was dark, but his eyes adjusted just enough to see it was lined with a few short rows of shelves. Dean patted the wall next to him for a light switch as he took a chance and called out for his brother.

"Sammy?" He didn't wait for a response, but felt some ease of mind as his fingers finally fell upon a switch. He flicked it upward and the room filled with light. Just as he'd thought, there were four tall rows of fully stocked shelves to the right side of the room, which created isles he couldn't see down. "Fuck," Dean blurted under his breath. _'Anyone could be hiding down those',_ he thought cautioning himself. _'Three isles.'_ He sighed warily. "Triple fuck."

Dean pointed the gun straight in front of him, then moved slowly forward. As he came to the first isle he stepped quickly into the open space at the end of it. He stared down the row of bulk packaged paper products to the wall at the end. It was clear, no one was there. Dean exhaled. He squeezed the gun in his hand, and stepped abruptly to his left, positioning himself at the end of the second isle. Large boxes of chips covered the shelves to his left, and stacks of soda created the wall to his right. This isle… also clear. 'One more,' Dean thought keeping his guard up. 'Check it.' Dean once more stepped swiftly to his left. He pointed the gun straight down the last isle ready to shoot, then lowered it slowly, and let it absentmindedly hang from his hand.

Sam was lying unconscious in a slumped heap against the back wall at the end of the isle. He sat mostly upright, propped to his side, with his head flopped against the shelving to his right. His wrists and ankles were bound in front of him with duct tape, and a bandana was pushed into his mouth and looked to be tied off tightly behind his head. His left shoulder and chest were drenched in blood, the bright red a harsh contrast to the light blue t-shirt it had soaked through. Darker at the bottom edge of the shirt sleeve, it dripped from the over absorbed fabric and formed small rolling red trails down the pale, smooth skin of his arm.

Dean stood staring, his mind and body numb. Even thought he'd been concerned, he'd never expected to find Sam in any actual danger. Somehow he figured that like usual, he'd get there just in time to kill the bad guy, save Sam, give him a hard time about making him come out here, and then demand his previously requested ice cream. Instead, he'd gotten here just in time to find his kid brother bound, gagged, unconscious, and covered in blood, in the back room of some shitty, run down, convenience store.

All Dean could figure, was that somewhere along the line… he had messed up.

* * *

Thanks for reading! As always I really appreciate your feedback, so drop me a review if you can. I'll try to post the next chapter soon! 

Kate ; )


	3. Chapter 3

Let me just start by saying this has been the chapter from hell.

I spent way more time on it then I intended, did way too many re-writes, but am finally mostly happy with it, and really appreciate anyone who is continuing to read after the long downtime.

I seriously want to thank Kaewi for being my beta on this! She checked the hell out of my spelling and grammar, and if anyone notices any mistakes it's not because she missed something, it's because I went back and did another re-write after she gave it back to me. Did I mention I did too many re-writes?

Again I want to thank everyone for all the reviews and all the feedback. It makes a big difference knowing someone is out there reading- so thanks!

In the spirit of my story - you guys fucking kick ass!

Here ya go!

**------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Energies and Ice Cream**

**CH 3**

_Fuck… okay uh… fuck_, Dean thought to himself as he knelt next to his brother. _He's not moving… why the hell isn't he moving? Because he's fucking unconscious, dip shit. Unconscious people don't move._ Dean's breath quickened up his throat. _Fuck… he's unconscious._ Dean stiffened his slightly shaking lip. Why did Sam always look so much younger when he was hurt?

Dean reached forward and lifted Sam's head off the storage shelf. As he tried to tug apart the knot of the gag, Sam flinched and moaned slightly. _Okay Sammy_, Dean thought as relief hit him, _good to know your not dead._ With the knot undone, Dean proceeded to pull the gag from Sam's mouth. Without warning, Sam unexpectedly jolted awake and grabbed Dean hard by the throat. _Okay, definitely not dead_, Dean thought.

"Ah… Sammy?" Dean gasped with a choking hiccup.

"Dean?" Sam questioned, looking confused and exhausted. Dean shot him a toothy grin, then gagged slightly and made a weird gurgling sound. Sam let go. "What the hell are you doing here?" He asked gruffly.

"You called me," Dean said, rubbing his neck.

"You said you weren't coming," Sam replied, his resentment evident.

"Actually, I never said I wasn't coming," Dean explained as he carefully grabbed Sam's shoulder. "I more alluded to it." Dean pulled the blood crusted shirt from his brother's skin quickly locating a small hole in the fabric. "You okay here?" He asked, darting a glance of concern Sam's way.

"Do I _look_ okay?" Sam snipped sarcastically.

"_You_ look fine, but I think your shirt's seen better days." Dean laced a finger into the hole and tore the fabric wide. Sam's entire shoulder, like his shirt, was covered in blood, some dry and caked to his skin, some wet and still dripping. Dean inspected it curiously. "So what is this?" He asked finally. Sam gave his brother an evaluating gaze, then chose to hit him bluntly.

"I got shot."

"What?" Dean asked, his voice clearly conveying he had grasped Sam's statement.

"I think you heard me." Sam tried not to enjoy it, but somewhere in him, he had been waiting for this.

"Yeah… yeah I heard you." Dean responded numbly as he grabbed the bandana Sam had been gagged with and brought it to the wound. He wiped away some of the blood, moving cautiously as Sam tried to conceal his very evident pain. Once he had the area reasonably clean, he leaned in. Dark blood oozed from the puncture in the flesh; it was only a thin stream, but Dean found himself transfixed on it. His brother had been shot; how could he have let this happen?

"Dean," Sam interrupted his brother's blank stare impatiently, "could you stop gawking at it and maybe do something useful, like get me out of this tape." Dean broke out of his daze and glanced at Sam's binding.

"I can't," he admitted truthfully. "It's too thick, that needs to be cut off of you."

"So use your knife."

"I don't have it."

"What do you mean you don't have it? You always have it! You fucking sleep with it!"

"I don't have it, Sam. Okay?"

"No, it's not okay!" Sam suddenly blew. "Why the fuck did you bother to come down here if you weren't gonna come prepared?"

"Prepared?" Dean questioned. "Sam, if you wanted me prepared if might have helped if you'd actually _mentioned_ you were in trouble when you called."

"I wasn't in trouble!" Sam lied.

"Bullshit! You _were_ in trouble, you're _still_ in trouble. Now calm the fuck down and let me help you!"

Sam glared at him. He needed Dean's help, and he wanted Dean's help, but he was still too pissed at him to simply accept his help; instead, he continued to push.

"I should have called _Dad_," Sam's voice was low and rough as he fucked with his brother using an intentionally hurtful blow.

"Fuck," Dean spat under his breath. He slowly looked up and connected his gaze with Sam's, he'd had enough.

"Sam, you need to stop," he said firmly. "I'm not gonna argue with you."

"Then leave!" Sam steadied his shaking hands; he couldn't believe he'd let the words exit his mouth. He was just so pissed at the whole situation he couldn't stop himself. It wasn't what he'd been thinking, and it sure as hell wasn't what he wanted, but now it was out there, and he wasn't about to take it back. He sat, his exterior brooding, waiting for the aftermath.

"Listen Sam…" Dean started forcefully.

As Dean searched for a response, he took in the amount of blood his brother had lost. _How the hell did so much blood come from one tiny hole, _he questioned. Then he realized the blood probably wasn't coming from just that hole, and he forgot about Sam's pissy attitude.

"Sam…" Dean said taking a deep breath, his tone uneasy, "lean forward." Sam's anger dispersed slightly with his brother's concerned tone, and he did as he was told.

Dean braced himself as he knew typically it was not the _entry_ hole which caused the most damage. He leaned in and strained over Sam's shoulder to see his back; oddly there was no sign of an exit wound; the bullet was still in him. "Okay," he said, signaling Sam to lean back. This was good news, but it still wasn't good. Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair nervously contemplating. "It was a handgun, right?" He asked, and Sam nodded numbly in agreement, as the pain and shock began to grab hold of him again. "How close was it to you?"

"Close," Sam answered quietly.

"How long ago?"

"Huh?" He asked groggily.

"How long after you hung up the phone with me did it happen?"

"Uh…" Sam reluctantly grasped Dean's misconception of how things had gone down. _Fuck_, Sam registered, _he thinks I got shot after he called._ This was a totally logical assumption on Dean's part, but as Sam continued to think about it, he wasn't sure he could handle telling his brother the truth; that he had consciously chosen to punish him by hanging up on him, rather than swallow his pride and ask Dean for help.

"Just after I hung up," Sam whispered falling into his own trap. "It happened just after I hung up."

"Okay kid-o," Dean said in a reassuring tone, as he rubbed the back of Sam's neck, "we'll take care of it." Suddenly Sam felt horrible.

"Store robbery…" Sam continued to lie without prompting. He moaned slightly as he felt himself start to fade. "The guy just… I uh…" Sam felt himself slump over onto Dean. He couldn't see anything, but he heard Dean swear and soon after begin talking to someone. He heard words like 'ambulance', 'shot', and 'fuck', and phrases like 'not good enough', 'get here faster', and 'fucking fuck me, I could shove a siren up my ass and carry him there in less fucking time.' There was then a short pause followed by, 'I'll calm my ass down when they fucking get here', and 'Fuck yeah, the language _is_ necessary.'

Then, the talking stopped.

Sam wasn't sure what was going on, or why Dean kept talking about his ass, but he felt his brother's grip on him as he was shifted into a different position. Despite his semi-unconscious state he could sense Dean's concern, then it was pushed aside as all he could feel were thoughts coated in anger and a sever degree of self loathing. Sam whimpered for his brother. It needed to stop. He needed Dean to make it stop.

**----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- **

"Sam Winchester," Dean stated as he leaned onto the counter of the nurse's station and waited for the pretty brunet in the pink scrubs to hand him Sam's discharge papers. He rubbed at his eyes trying to stay awake; they'd gotten here over fourteen hours ago and although it seemed like an incredibly long time, Dean still felt it was too fast for them to be discharging his brother.

On the upside, Dean was happy to be taking the kid out of this place, and to get far away from the problematic mess which was insurance fraud. Dean dropped his hand from his face and found the pretty pink nurse staring straight at him with perky eyes… a perky smile… and as he couldn't help but notice, very perky…

"There's a Starbucks inside the hospital."

"Excuse me?" Dean asked as he scribbled an intentionally illegible signature onto the clipboard she had placed in front of him.

"It's just that, you look really tired," she explained. "I thought you might need a coffee before you hit the road."

"Oh, right. Ah… will you be joining me?" He smiled playfully.

"Well…" she giggled slightly, "maybe for the walk." Dean smirked. "Oh, wait a sec," she added and stepped away from the counter to grab something. She quickly returned dropping a couple of small, clear, plastic bags onto the counter.

"These are the rest of your cousin's personal belongings."

"Oh… yeah," Dean said, picking up the first one. It contained a pile of change, some folded receipts, and a slightly chewed pen cap. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"What did you expect?" She asked. "You already got his wallet when you first arrived and needed his insurance card."

"Right."

"And we are required to return _everything_." Dean glanced at the other bag which at first look contained something unidentifiable.

"What the hell is that?" He asked.

"I don't know… but it was wet, so we put it in a separate bag."

Dean sighed loudly, grabbed the bag, and lifted it off the counter. He realized what it was almost immediately.

"Fuck," he said softly under his breath.

"What? What is it?"

"It's a melted… chocolate… ice cream bar." Dean successfully hid his emotions as the nurse leaned in to get a closer look.

"No it's not."

"What?"

"Oh… I mean… it's not chocolate."

"It's not?" Dean brought the disgusting slush filled bag closer to his face.

"No… see…," she said, delicately pointing. They both leaned in until they were only a couple of inches away from the bag. Dean couldn't believe it. The faded blue ink, on the soaked through label, that sloshed around in the brown muck filled plastic bag, actually read…

"Mocha?" Dean questioned. He furrowed his brow, then glanced sideways at the nurse. "Required… to return…"

"…everything," the nurse finished with a serious nod. Dean gave another big sigh and ran a hand over his face.

"Damn it Sammy," he complained under his breath, then turned and walked away from the counter.

"Hey, wait… what about that coffee?" The nurse called after him. Dean stopped and turned, no longer in the mood for flirting.

"Isn't mocha a mix of chocolate and coffee?" He asked warily.

"Yeah, I think."

"I'll drink this," he said holding up the bag, and with that, Dean walked away in search of recovery room 213, and a straw.

**------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

Sam sat in recovery room 213, quietly dangling his legs off the side of the hospital bed. Leg dangling wasn't something he got to do often, considering his height, but this bed was cranked so high off the ground his feet actually had a few inches to spare between them and the floor. He sat wearing only jeans and a sling, which cradled his left arm close to his bare chest. A short sleeve button down shirt was tossed on the bed next to him, and his shoes and socks lied messily on the floor below his feet. Basically, the pants were all he was able to manage on his own. He had successfully pulled them up and buttoned them with his one good arm, then decided he was good to move to his socks and shoes. After three minutes of fighting the fact that it hurt like hell to bend forward, he irately threw his socks at his shoes in a vindictive act of punishment for their having been so uncooperative. After that, he didn't even want to consider giving his shirt the satisfaction of pissing him off.

He had been awake for over an hour and a half, and although the nurse had assured him the other man was around, he couldn't come up with a single excuse as to why Dean wouldn't have been there yet. Sam swallowed hard as complex levels of resentment anchored into him. He drifted briefly into his head and then a cool hand fell against his arm, as the word 'hey' startled him back into the room. Sam jumped slightly, and looked over into the face of his brother. Dean stood smiling, chewing on a clear drinking straw.

"How ya feelin' champ?" Dean asked, removing the straw from his mouth and tossing it aside. "I see you got the clothes."

"What?"

"The clothes," Dean repeated, "I gave them to your nurse, she said…"

"Where the hell have you been? They said I could leave like twenty minutes ago," Sam snipped at him.

Dean made a quick mental note. _Okay, crappy attitude still intact. Got it. _

Sam waited for an answer. It didn't matter what it was; he had already decided not to accept it.

"It's not my fault," Dean insisted. "After sitting around forever, they waited until the last possible moment to mention there was a problem with your insurance card. I had to take a cab back to the motel to forge another one."

"Oh…" Sam said slightly disappointed his excuse was fairly reasonable, but still… "Why'd it take you so long?"

"Because the hospital's not exactly…" Dean began, then decided to spare Sam of his own personal trauma. He sighed and started again. "It just took longer than I expected." Sam took his answer under evaluation.

"Did you fix it?"

"Yeah… no offense Sammy, but you seriously need to keep that shit updated."

"Who the fuck are you to tell _me_ to keep on top of things," Sam spat out at Dean's slight and unintended provoking. Dean gave loud sigh, keeping his own temper in check.

"I wasn't scolding you, Sam," Dean replied truthfully. "I'm just saying it's a little awkward when you hand someone an insurance card with the wrong name on it."

"What?"

"The card in your wallet… we never put your name on it."

"Oh…"

"And I'd already given them your real information."

"Shit," Sam backed down. "So how'd you…"

"Don't worry, my pearly whites took care of it." Dean shot him a grin, then admitted, "That, and I don't think she gave a shit. This place has been hectically neglectful." Then he added sincerely, "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you woke up." Sam glanced at him, finally letting himself feel the relief of having his brother around.

"It's okay," he said sounding a bit kid like.

"So what's up?" Dean asked. "You got a problem with the clothes I picked out?"

"Huh?"

"You're half naked."

"Oh." Sam glanced down at himself. "Yeah, I uh..." Dean quickly jumped into big brother mode. He knelt to the floor and began to push on Sam's socks and shoes.

"I know you love hospitals almost as much as I do, but when they catch onto the whole insurance fraud thing you'll want your shoes on so we can high tale it out of here."

"Actually, I was planning on using the laces to propel down the outside wall," Sam came back with a straight face. Dean glanced up as he got the laces tied.

"I'll lend you mind."

Once phase one was complete Dean stood and picked up the shirt. He shook it open and pulled one of the sleeves onto Sam's right arm; then, in the most awkward way imaginable, he proceeded to pull and twist the shirt across Sam's back completely baffled by how the second sleeve should go on. Eventually, Sam realized Dean had put the wrong sleeve on his good arm.

"Uh Dean…?"

"Yeah… yeah I know," he said pulling it back off. Dean brought it onto Sam's arm again, wrapped the left side around the sling, and buttoned as much of it closed as would reach. Then he stood back and admired his shotty work. The buttons weren't lined up properly, and part of the shirt had somehow tucked itself into the sling leaving half of Sam's stomach exposed. "Dude, never let me dress you again," he advised.

"It's fine Dean… can we go now?" Sam asked impatiently, a slight tone back in his voice.

Dean stared at him for a moment, getting lost in his brother's eyes. He might be all patched up and fine to go, but somehow Sam still looked like a kid to him, and he could only figure it was due to all the unanswered questions. The cops had interviewed them both separately, before Sam was taken into surgery, and a lot of what Dean had come to learn just didn't add up. Even Sam's story seemed to contradict itself, and that just wasn't like him. Dean wanted answers, and he contemplated whether Sam was ready to give them.

"Dean!" He suddenly heard his brother shout. Dean snapped out of his thoughts and turned around to find Sam already standing in the doorway. "Are you coming?" Sam began his rant, "or are you waiting for me to carry you outta hear with my one good arm!" Dean stared blankly and reconsidered his need to get answers. _Now's probably not the best time to talk_, he thought.

Dean turned and followed Sam, who was already halfway down the hall. As he passed the wheelchair the nurse had set out for Sam's departure, he paused and turned towards it. _Fuck_.

"Sam!" He shouted out the door. "You're suppose to… um… oh, who the fuck am I kidding?" Dean pushed the chair aside, and ran out the door after his brother.

**------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

Sam continued to fiddle with his seatbelt in an attempt to fit it comfortably across his sling. Nothing seemed to be working, and his patience was growing short; finally, he popped the buckle and tossed it off him.

"You sure you wanna do that?" Dean cautioned as he turned a corner, "We just left the hospital, and I really don't wanna have to take you back."

"Then don't crash."

"Crash?" Dean began petting the Impalla's dashboard, "Whoa baby, it's okay, Sammy's on drugs, don't listen to him. Nobody's gonna hurt you."

"Are you sure _I'm_ the one on drugs?" Sam watched him with a raised eyebrow.

"Pretty sure… isn't that why you're in such a lovely mood?" Dean tempted. Sam glared at him slightly, then turned to look out the window. They had been driving down busy store front streets since they'd left the hospital.

"Weren't we in the middle of fucking nowhere last night?" Sam asked.

"Yeah."

"Then why does this look like a small city?"

"Uh… because it's a small city."

"I didn't realize we were so close to a city." Sam continued to watch curiously out the window, as Dean glanced at him apprehensively, wanting to change the subject.

"So I figure we'll drive north and find a motel. I cleared all our stuff out of the other one."

"Sure," Sam agreed without turning.

Dean continued to drive, both of them silent for over ten minutes until they reached the edge of the city and headed off onto a long stretch of empty road. It was early evening, and it was summer, so it should have been light out, but the clouds overhead insisted differently, and a couple of miles later the rain began to fall. Sam focused on the rhythmic wipers as they brushed the water away in folds across the windshield. Part of him wanted to talk to Dean, to tell him everything that had happened, and what sort of trouble he had actually gotten himself into. He kept trying to start a sentence, any sentence, but couldn't force the sound to come out. Something kept stopping him, and his mouth quickly became dry, as a raw taste began to coat the back of his throat.

_Just pick something to start with and say it_, Sam thought. _Tell him what happened._ He glanced over at Dean who was focused on the road and seemed to be entrenched deep in his own thoughts. _Talk to him damn it_, he yelled at himself. Dean unexpectedly started to glance his way; Sam panicked and turned towards the passenger window in a jerk reaction. _Fuck. Just say… can we talk… can we talk._ Sam focused hard on the words and opened his mouth. At first he heard nothing, and then the three words entered the car.

"Can we talk?" The words hung between them, slowly drifting to the floor as they went with no response. Dean asked again.

"Sammy… you with me here? Talk… can we talk?" Dean tried to keep his eyes on both the road and his brother, as he continued to wait for a response.

"Uh… about what?" Sam answered apprehensively.

"About what happened." Sam turned and just looked at him, he really wished he had even a little moisture in his mouth, or at least that the rank taste on his tongue would go away.

"Sure," he said quietly, swallowing dryness.

"Well uh… look. I just…" Dean began futzing with his words as much as Sam had been stumbling with them in his head. Sam looked on at Dean's awkwardness and listened suddenly hopeful as it occurred to him that he could be attempting to apologize. "I uh…" Dean continued, "I'm not sure I buy your story."

"What do you mean… _story_?" Sam's insides churned.

"Well… I don't actually know the whole story, but I know you had some sort of trouble, called me, and then got shot."

"Yeah," Sam replied hesitantly, knowing that wasn't exactly the truth. Dean turned and looked at him with a serious expression.

"That doesn't match up to what you told the cops. You told them you walked into an empty store, and when you were looking for the clerk, someone from behind the counter suddenly shot you."

Sam had thought he was going to have to think fast to cover his tracks, but it turned out all he had to do was tell the truth.

"I talked to the cops?" There was a small silent pause.

"Yeah," Dean said a little thrown, "just before you went into surgery."

"Dean, I have no memory of that," Sam said honestly. "I remember being with you in the back room, and then nothing until I woke up in recovery." Dean side glanced at him, and began again with the loud sighing.

"Yeah… okay," he said.

"I don't," Sam insisted.

"I believe you Sam. You were half out of it for the five minutes I got to see you."

"Look…" Sam said, "I probably just told the cops what I thought they wanted to hear. That's sort of what I've been trained to do… ya know?"

"Yeah, it's just… the whole talk I had with them was weird."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you got to the store what… twelve fifteen, twelve twenty?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"The store closed at midnight."

"What?" Sam responded genuinely surprised. "Well that explains why I couldn't find the clerk."

"So you _couldn't_ find the clerk?

"Huh? Uh… no. When I got there the place looked open, but no one was around."

"The cops talked to the guy that closed, he said he shut everything down and locked up at like five to. So let me ask you… what sort of robber decides to power up a store, slurpie machines and all, before clearing out the safe?"

Sam shrugged as he thought to himself knowing full well the answer, _the kind that's not there to rob the place_.

"The kind that's not there to rob the place," Dean spoke Sam's thought out loud.

"What?" Sam asked startled.

"Nothing was stolen, not even merchandise. The only thing this guy seemed to accomplish was shooting you." Sam turned pale as he shifted away from Dean and gazed at the floor.

"Oh, and the security cameras…" Dean began. A chill of dread ran through Sam; the cameras, he had forgotten completely about them, and they would show everything that had happened.

"What about them?" Sam asked, his mouth growing dryer by the moment.

"Get this, every camera was on, but absolutely nothing was recorded," Dean complained. Sam remained silent, and as relief hit him, he realized just how fearful he was of his brother discovering the truth. Dean shook his head. "I mean, that's just fucking messed up. No…" Dean continued to sigh, "…something about this is wrong."

Sam touched his hand to the passenger window, deliberately shifting his focus to the rain as it rolled in broken streaks down the glass.

"Sam," Dean began with a somewhat hesitant tone. "What _did_ happen?"

Sam knew Dean needed answers. He was a hunter, but he was also a detective, and he wasn't going to let this drop easily if something about it was bothering him. But Sam needed time to think, to decide what he would and wouldn't tell his brother. And in that instant, time wasn't a luxury he had. "Sam?" He heard his name come again. Sam felt exhausted from all the thinking, all the worrying, and now, all the lying. He knew Dean was waiting for a response. He answered by shutting his eyes, and leaning his forehead against the cool glass window.

Dean was about to say his brother's name again, but stopped himself as he realized why he wasn't getting an answer. He reached his right hand across the car, placed it on Sam's shoulder, and gently tugged him away from the window and back into the seat. Sam landed lightly against the upholstery, his head hanging to one side. Dean sighed yet again as he thought to himself, _damn I've been sighing a lot_. He turned away from his brother and checked the oncoming lane for cars. The road was slick, and the rain was making the visibility a bit shitty, but there were no head lights in sight. Dean kept his eyes to the road as he reached out awkwardly and patted his hand across his brother's chest. When it finally landed on what he was looking for, he pulled it towards him, and fastened the seatbelt across his sleeping brother.

**------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ **

Dean was lying back in bed, one arm folded behind his head, the other pointed straight at the television, flipping its channels via the remote. "Nothing… nothing… nothing… crap… nothing… nothing… nothing… crap." There were only four channels. Three of them were airing nothing, while the fourth was airing crap. Despite his displeasure in the selection, he continued to flip repeatedly through them, finding that the single show he was able to create by changing from one station to the next was somehow more interesting than simply choosing one.

"Dean! Stop it or mute it, I can't take it anymore!" Sam complained.

"Sorry dude… I never should have pulled over for that coffee… or that triple espresso… or that caramel macchiato." Dean muted it and tossed the remote on his bed.

"Ya think?" Sam groaned exasperated. "Why don't you at least_ try_ and go to sleep."

"Can't… caffeine apparently contains microscopic parasites that get their kicks out of holding your eyelids open."

"Dean…" Sam cautioned warily.

"It's true, dude. The only reason you can't see them is because they're above your eyes, and because they're microscopic. Oh… and cause they're parasites."

"Dean! For god's sake! I know you haven't slept in like thirty six hours, and I get that you're high on caffeine, and well… an idiot... but can you please, please shut the hell up and go to sleep?" Dean stared at his brother for several seconds, then pointed at his unblinking eyes.

"Parasites."

"Ugh!" Sam fell back onto his bed and pulled a pillow over his face. Next thing he knew, he felt Dean land hard on the bed next to him.

"Sammy?"

"What Dean?" Sam's voice came muffled and groaning from under his pillow.

"You never answered my question."

"Fine Dean…," Sam whined sleepily, "Lincoln Logs… Lincoln Logs are better than Leggos."

"Not that question… and you're wrong… the other one."

"What other one?" There was a slight pause, then Dean asked.

"What happened at the convenience store?"

"Dean," Sam said pulling the pillow from his face, "it was a simple botched robbery… let it go."

Dean rose from the bed and returned to his own. He sat upright and stared at the set, its cool flashing light illuminating his face in the otherwise dark motel room.

"The bullet, Sam."

"What?"

"The bullet," Dean continued in an overtired, trancelike tone. "The doctor said it went in, and just sort of stopped; that normally it would need to hit something to slow it down. It hit nothing… no bone… no muscle… no vitals. It should have blown a hole out your back."

"So… I was lucky."

"It wasn't luck… the doctor said so himself… he'd never seen anything like it. As if it was just sort of… _placed_ inside you."

The way Dean worded it sent a shiver across Sam's neck. _I'm a remarkably unusual shot,_ Sam shook the thought off.

"Go to sleep, Dean," Sam said firmly, and pulled the pillow back over his face.

Sam clinched his eyes shut, insistent upon ignoring the truth. _Forget it_, he told himself, _just go to sleep_. Sam let himself relax. He took a few deep breaths, and slowly… his body began to feel heavier. _That's it_, he let himself slip, _…sleep._ Sam shifted a little, and his head sank into the mattress. As quiet and darkness finally enveloped him, his reality shifted, and Sam found himself back in the convenience store.

**------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

Thanks for reading - FYI- Chapter 4 is mostly written, and I promise not to re-write the hell out of it!

As always - your reviews are really appreciated, so let me know your thoughts!

Kate; )


	4. Chapter 4

Hey everyone!

Once again thanks so much for all the reviews! I'm super happy everyone seems to be enjoying the story!

A big thanks goes out to my beta Kaewi for finding the time to correct my grammar and give me feedback- she kicks ass!

Now on with it - this chapter should answer some of the hanging questions… so…

**----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- **

**Energies and Ice Cream**

**CH 4**

Sam glanced at his surroundings. He was alone, and sitting at the end of a long storage isle in the back room of the convenience store. _This is it_, he thought, _if I have any chance of getting away from this guy, it's gonna be now. _Sam reached his good arm up and grabbed onto the metal shelving. _Come on_, he pushed,_ you weren't shot in the leg. Get the hell up! _Sam gave a good pull and hoisted himself to his feet. His body felt weak and shaky for a moment, but he quickly managed to steady himself. He took two long strides forward, continuing to brace himself against the shelf, but then he felt it: a numbing wave of head rush. It crawled up his neck like a dark nauseating cloud and quickly consumed his sight and balance. _Fuck._ Sam held hard to the shelf as he shook. _Just hang on… it'll pass_. His grip tightened onto the smooth steel rail; then it felt as if his hand went straight through it, and he heard a loud thud.

Finally the head rush passed, and the darkness literally cleared. Sam got ready to move, but as he looked around, he realized his view had changed. _What the…? Fuck._ Sam found himself lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. _At least I know what the thud was,_ he thought. Then, before he could consider a second attempt, his own voice came at him in a disorienting manner.

"What are you doing?" It asked in a baffled tone. "Did you miss the part where I said I'd be right back?" Sam squinted his vision into focus as he looked up into the somewhat friendly eyes of a familiar face… his own.

"Hey," the guy said, dropping a couple of items to the floor. "You weren't trying to escape were you?"

"Crap," Sam said, not really in response.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'." Sam didn't even bother to pull away as the guy stepped closer and grabbed him under the arms. He was given a soft tug and pulled into a sitting position against the back wall. Then the guy knelt down next to him and checked his injury. "How ya feelin'?"

"Are you kidding?" Sam snipped.

"Fine," he said putting his hands up in defense, "forget I asked." Then he observed the concealed pain and anxiety in Sam's face. "You don't need to worry about that", he said nodding towards the bullet wound, "_I'm a remarkably unusual shot_." Sam stared at him, not really gripping what he meant; it didn't matter, as he had no desire to accept his assailant's compassion.

"I don't give a fuck what sort of shot you are, and I'm not worried. I've had way worse," Sam challenged.

"Woah-kay, somebody's defensive. Do me a favor, and save the attitude for the person it's actually intended for."

"Fuck you," Sam pushed.

"Yeah… well… since you don't feel like talking," the guy moved forward, "I'll just get to work."

Sam glanced down at the items the guy had dropped to the floor. There was a roll of duct tape and a black bandana.

"What are those for?" He asked uneasily.

"I've gotta build the scene," he said picking up the tape and pulling the top layer away from the roll.

"What do you mean… 'build the scene'?"

"For when Dean gets here."

"I told you…"

"Yeah, yeah, Dean's not coming… I heard ya the first_ two_ times. Now give me your hand."

"What? No!"

"Jesus…" He rolled his eyes and roughly grabbed Sam's hand. "It's not like you actually have a choice here."

He twisted Sam's wrist and began to wrap the tape around it. Sam went to pull away, but the awkward manner in which his arm had been turned sent a sharp pain straight up his arm and into his wound. Sam winced and moaned as his head lolled back and hit the wall. A momentary wave of disconnection washed through his body separating his thoughts from his actions. Sam watched motionless as both his wrists were pulled and taped together. Several layers were twisted and tucked around and between his wrists in a way that made the binding feel excessively permanent. As the pain finally passed and Sam reconnected with reality, he struggled against his new binding only to confirm he had a better chance of ripping his skin from his arms than tearing the tape. _Crap_, he thought, _I'm seriously fucked._

"Why are you doing this?" Sam blurted in sudden frustration. The guy said nothing. Sam calmed himself and waited, intent on make eye contact. Finally, the guy looked up. A prickling cold rolled lightly down the back of Sam's neck. It was creepy as hell to be face to face with someone who looked exactly like him, but the moment he connected with the guy's eyes, he could clearly see another being inside. He needed to know what the fuck was going on; he needed to know now. "Who are you… really?" He asked as an uneasy fear crept through him.

"I told you." The guy responded, as he turned away and moved to Sam's ankles.

"You didn't tell me shit. Tell me who you are," Sam demanded. The guy stayed silent for a full minute as he wrapped several secure layers of tape around Sam's ankles using the same odd technique. He then tore the end of the tape apart from the roll, and tossed it aside. He watched as it rolled under the shelving, and once it was out of site, he glanced up and calmly looked Sam in the eyes.

"When I said I was part you, I was being serious."

"How is that possible?" Sam paused briefly as a second burdening question dug into him, "…and what's the _other_ part?"

"I'm an energy demon. Or more literally, a _fragment_… of a demon."

"Energy demon?" Sam questioned.

"E.D. for short. But you can call me Ed," he added seriously.

"Ed?" Sam repeated, a mix of sarcasm and laughter in his voice. Ed glared at him as if to say, 'you got a problem with my name?'. Sam quickly shifted his tone. "Okay, _Ed_… What the hell do you mean by _fragment_?"

"Do you want the cosmic explanation, or textbook?"

"Er… textbook," Sam chose warily.

"Good boy," Ed confirmed. "Okay, when a demon dies-- not when it's sent to Hell, but when it's demolished, which is rare-- it breaks into pieces. And I don't mean tail, head, horns. I mean physical body, etheric layer, and the equivalent, yet somewhat opposite, of what you'd call a soul. When a demon is destroyed, its body rots, its etheric layer dissolves, and its _soul _shatters into fragments of energy that disperse into the universe. I'm one of those fragments."

Sam considered it, then questioned it. "I get what you're saying, but I thought when a demon died it just sort of…"

"Ceased to exist? No. It's comprised of energy, and energy doesn't just go away. Especially energy from a piss-angry, malevolent demon, whose final thoughts were routed in pain and fear. _That_ sort of energy carries a certain strength. Unfortunately for me, it also carries a burden of penance."

"Huh?"

"This is where you come in. Back out there on Bumfuck Ave, or wherever the hell I was, I collided with you. Or rather, with your thoughts."

"How the hell do you collide with a thought?"

"Easy. Thoughts are made of energy: same as me, same as you, same as everything. You put a strong thought out into the universe, it doesn't just disappear. The universe is filled with energy in the form of thought waves. Just 'cause you can't see them doesn't mean they're not there."

"I guess…"

"You guess?" Ed repeated with an attitude. "Why are you having me explain this shit if you're just gonna question it? Look, humans collide with thought energy every day, they just don't see or realize it, but you can bet your ass it affects them: their mood, their emotions, their actions. But with me… when I collide with a powerful thought energy, it has a vastly different result."

"And what would that be?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"What you see… " Ed motioned to himself, "…is what we got. Normally, when I'm not on a job, I'm a high vibration, simple level energy form with a slight hint of color… yellow on my happy days… purple if I'm feeling pensive… when I'm down… I'm literally blue."

"Can we get _back_ to explaining the whole penance thing, and the part where this involves me?" Sam asked bitterly, ignoring Ed's little joke.

"Just like a human," Ed returned curtly. "Look, it's pretty self explanatory. Demons are evil; there needs to be balance. Therefore, me and all my fragment friends got damn near an eternity of good deeds to complete. Payback for the sake of universal balance, end of story… beginning of ours." He tacked on a little smirk for the sake of Sammy annoyance.

"Again… this relates to me….?"

"I'm here to help you!" Ed grinned. There was a long pause as Sam tried to interpret what Ed meant by...

"Help?"

"Yep."

"Me." Sam confirmed incredulously.

"You got it, kid!"

"Great," Sam said, punctuating the thought with bad attitude.

"More sarcasm…" Ed said shaking his head disapprovingly. "No wonder you need _me_ to deal with your problems."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing…" Ed said, brushing aside his comment, "anyway, the thing that's a little weird about this particular run-in…"

"A_ little_ weird?" Sam interrupted.

"… is that _normally_," Ed continued, blowing off Sam's comment, "nothing happens when I come in contact with human thought. If it did, this dimension would be killer. I mean seriously, there's more human thought requests bouncing around here than street corner Starbucks. Hmmm…." he paused thoughtfully, "I gotta remember to grab a latte while I'm still in human form." He finished speaking, but continued to think on it. The pause became painfully long.

"Hello! Earth to Latte Land!" Sam shouted trying to pull him back. "You were saying?"

"Oh. Yeah, sorry." Ed returned, his thoughts still half holding the latte. "Normally, I move about searching for energy thoughts from supernatural beings, ya know, monsters, ghosts, other demons, those guys. I'm suppose to pay penance by helping _them_, not humans. This is sort of new to me."

"So what happened?"

"I don't know, seems your thought-waves pack a punch. I could actually see them coming, I just couldn't get the fuck out of the way fast enough. What are you on anyway?"

"Huh? I'm not… _on_… anything," Sam responded, not really understanding the question.

"Well, something about you is beyond normal." Ed thought for a moment, crossing his arms. "You have any paranormal abilities?"

"No." Sam blurted a little too fast.

"Uh huh, and Dean's not coming." Ed smirked, then continued. "Well, whatever it is, you were radiating some piss-strong thoughts." Sam suddenly tensed, remembering…

"_Which_ thoughts?" He asked hesitantly.

"You know which thoughts," Ed assured him, his tone suddenly menacing.

Sam shakily remembered his mood during the drive. _ I wish Dean would regret bossing me around and treating me like crap. I don't care what it takes. I want him to realize; I want him to be sorry. _ The words came back at Sam like a harsh slap, and he glanced at his bleeding shoulder as understanding finally set in. _Fuck. _

"Don't look so stressed," Ed tried to reassure him, "I got your request, and I'm gonna take care of it."

"_Shooting me_ was taking care of it?" Sam questioned bitingly.

"Hey, don't question my methods, and drop the tone. I was hiding out on this plane to get away from things for a while… a short vacation. This was the first time off I was gonna have in like… forever, and then you went and mucked it up."

"Sorry," Sam said, returning to the comfort of sarcasm.

"That's okay," Ed answered seriously," Just try to work with me a little will ya?" Sam simply stared at him, his expression saying everything. "Guess I'm on my own."

Ed sighed, exhausted by the task before him. He reached to the floor, picked up the bandana, and began folding it. As he did so, he glanced up at Sam, and noticed that his expression had shifted; it was calmer, pensive, like he was thinking.

"What?" Ed cut to the chase. "Just ask, we gotta get moving here." Sam's focus shifted back to Ed and he spit out his only remaining question.

"It's just… why do you look like me?"

"I look like you?" Ed asked, seeming to be taken aback. Sam returned the look as Ed explained, "What? I haven't seen myself yet." Sam bought full on into Ed's statement.

"Well yeah…" Sam began, "you look exactly…"

"I was kidding," Ed quickly cut him off, then gave a foolishly bitter Sammy his explanation. "I manifested myself to look like you 'cause it was the best way to get your attention." Sam stared in disbelief.

"Just for the record," Sam stated, "putting a _bullet_ in me is what got my attention."

"Oh yeah," Ed giggled slightly. "Good point." He enjoyed the laugh, then cut it short. "Well, not that this hasn't turned into a truly delightful conversation," he said as he finished folding the bandana, "but… you're done talking."

A panicked and disgruntled "Don't…" was all Sam was able to blurt out before the thick middle section of the cloth was shoved into his mouth. Sam struggled and grunted as Ed pushed the fist-clenched ends of fabric behind his head and knotted them off. As Ed finished and moved away from him, Sam yelled into the muting gag, his eyes holding anger, frustration, and somewhere a little deeper, fear.

"Don't look at me like that, kid," Ed requested. "I'm here to help you. Even if you don't like my kind of help, it's what gets the job done. Although I have to admit, it isn't working so far." Sam gave a scrunched look of confusion as he grunted a 'huh' lightly into the gag. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it," Ed said, placing a hand on Sam's injured shoulder. "No matter how much resistance I get, I'm in this for the long haul. Whether we like it or not, until I satisfy your original _need, _we're stuck with each other."

'Fuck' was the first word that came to Sam's mind; 'me' was the second. Sam didn't want to be stuck with Ed, nor did he want Ed's help, but it was becoming painfully apparent he didn't have any choice in what was happening to him. Then Sam began to consider it. What if Dean really was on his way? This wasn't what he wanted… was it? Part of him was embarrassed at the thought of being bound and gagged and having his big brother come to his rescue, but another part of him…

How was Dean going to feel when he found out the little excursion he'd forced his kid brother on had ended up like this? _I want him to feel so bad_, Sam admitted hurtfully. _ I want him to blame himself. I want him to… _Sam cut his thoughts short_. Dean won't do that. He'll be concerned I'm hurt, but he won't... he'll never… blame himself. _

Sam thought back to their phone conversation and what a hard time his brother had given him. _All I wanted was for him to come get me. Why couldn't he just drop his bullshit so I could ask him to come get me? _Sam's chest held a heavy darkness which could only be released by way of the tears he was successfully resisting.

"Hey?" Ed said slapping Sam lightly on the face, pulling him back. "Where'd you go there?" Sam looked up at him slightly lost, his eyes filled with hurt and mixed emotions. "It's okay kid," Ed said sounding sincerely concerned about him. "I'm gonna fix this… I'll fix it." Sam gazed at him numbly, half hating him, half believing him.

With that, Ed moved closer. "Now…. you're not gonna like this, but I need you to pass out for me." Sam's expression shifted. "Sorry, but you can't be conscious when Dean gets here."

Ed slid his hand down onto Sam's wound and pressed his thumb hard into the bullet hole. Sharp relentless pain shot through Sam's upper body. Without hesitation his bound hands immediately grabbed a tight hold on Ed's throat. Ed didn't react; he simply stared at Sam unwavering. Sam squeezed harder, but the only reaction seemed to be an increase in his own pain. A severe and rapid pinching ran up the inside of his spine dragging darkness behind it. As it reached into Sam's head and pushed at him from behind his eyes, Sam yelled loudly into the gag. He had to beat it.

** --- --- --- --- **

"NO!" Sam woke sharply, startling the hell out of Dean. He sat upright in his motel bed, chest heaving, sweat drenching his body, the pillow and sheets tossed involuntarily off of him from his abrupt movement.

Usually Dean had warning, some slight moans in the kid's sleep, some tormented tossing and turning; this time there was no foreplay to Sam's panic. He simply bolted awake, terrified. Dean watched him cautiously, then slid to the edge of his bed.

"Sammy?" He began gently as he reached a hand to Sam's shoulder. Sam turned to him, seemingly disoriented by his surroundings, then curtly knocked Dean's hand away.

"I'm fine, Dean!" Sam stood brusquely and pushed past him making his way to the bathroom. Dean stiffened and turned just in time to see Sam disappear behind the door as he slammed it shut. Dean flinched at the harshness of the sound.

"Fine, Sam," he grumbled, "god forbid you should let me help you." Dean slid himself back onto the bed, brushing off his hurt feelings. He was way too tired to deal with this shit, and found it not quite as easy to brush off his anger.

Sam stood bracing himself up with one hand on the bathroom sink. He turned the water on cold, moved his hand under it, and then pulled a palm full of water up onto his face. He brushed it into his hair and then dragged his hand down across his features. Feeling slightly more oriented, he placed his hand to the sink again and stared into the mirror. _Fuck_, he thought. _Fuck… this guy's not gonna stop… and Dean's not exactly the type to learn a lesson easily._

Sam stepped back to the door, paused for a moment, then opened it. He stood in the doorframe staring out at his brother. Dean was still watching television. The set blinked and flashed images across his overtired face. _Maybe it's okay,_ Sam tried to convince himself_. Maybe Dean doesn't have to say he's sorry, maybe he just has to realize and regret what he did. Maybe it's already over. _

Dean briefly glanced at Sam, his looming in the doorway finally pushing Dean's nerves.

"Don't let my silent TV watching interrupt your little_ moodfest_ there, Sammy," Dean jabbed, "or did you _need_ me for something?"

"No," Sam answered coldly, "no, I'm good."

"Really?" Dean snipped. "Well if that should change let me know… I'll be more than happy to toss you my phone so you can call _Dad_." Dean spoke out of resentment, deliberately choosing to throw Sam's earlier bullshit comment about calling their father for help back in his brother's face.

Sam tightened his lips and contained himself from speaking his mind. _Damn him_, Sam thought bitterly, _he doesn't regret shit, this isn't over. I'm totally fucked._ Sam shook his head, turned, and defensively shut himself back into the bathroom.

Dean glanced at the recently shut door unsure who he was more pissed at, his brother, or himself. _Fuck,_ he thought. He shut off the television, rolled onto his side, and just lied there attempting to sleep. Finally his insomnia pushed all rational thought over the edge. _Enough ya fucking microscopic parasites, _Dean yelled internally_, let go of my damn eyelids so I can put this forty hour day from hell to an end! _And with that, the parasites let him sleep.

**------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- **

Thanks for reading - hope you liked it!

This sort of brings the first section of the story to a close - I've really been looking forward to the upcoming section so… hope to see you for CH5!

As always reviews are super appreciated (oh who the hell am I kidding! I love them - I'm addicted to them - they make my fucking day!) - so if you have time - I'd love to hear from you guys!

Thanks - Kate;)


	5. Chapter 5

Hey all!

So, I was about to post this on Wednesday and then realized with a friend that the Fanfic e-mail altert system is down - so I've been waiting.  
It's been 2 days. I can't wait anymore - I'm posting, and when the system is up I'll figure out a way to notify people - I hope:P

So let me just dive in here:

BIG thanks to Kaewi for being such a great beta on this!

And another BIG thanks to everyone who took the time to review - it was great to hear your thoughts - and I'm glad people seem to like Ed. : P

What? Oh yeah, the story…

So here officially marks the next section of the story. This chapter just sort of gets things started. Or rather… re-started.

* * *

**Energies and Ice Cream**

**CH 5**

Dean never bought Sam's story. It had been two weeks since the incident at the convenience store and neither of them had spoken directly about what had happened since. Dean couldn't figure why Sam would need to keep something from him, but he was sure he had, and given their history it didn't surprise him. It did, however, piss him off. For the first week post Sam's accident Dean allowed himself to be consumed by an all encompassing 'fuck you' attitude, which easily rivaled Sam's leftover moodiness from the night in question. Eventually it passed, and both of them shifted to flat out ignoring that anything, at least between them, had happened. This method seemed to work for both brothers. Seemed to.

"I think you should pull over. This town doesn't look like it's gonna have a lot of options," Sam said.

"Yeah, I think you're right." Dean pulled the Impala into the dirt parking lot of the small diner. It was an old trailer style diner, long and aluminum, with dirt coating its lower half and windows lining its upper half. Dean picked a spot, if you could call it that, as there were really no designated rows for the cars. He pulled the Impala in and shifted her into park. Outside, the rain which had been following them throughout most of their drive finally caught up. As Dean turned around in his seat, the rain began to fall at a moderate pace quickly turning the dirt lot into a mud lot.

"Grab the map, will ya?" Dean asked Sam as he knelt up onto his seat. "I wanna figure out the fastest route through and out of this town."

"Where is it?" Sam asked.

"Under your seat," Dean responded as he leaned into the back of the car, grabbed his bag, and began his own search.

Sam leaned forward and awkwardly shoved his hand under the seat. He felt around for a bit and found nothing.

"It's not here."

"It is there. Keep looking."

Sam sighed and rubbed his shoulder; the odd angle had hurt. Despite the severity of Sam's recent injury he had managed to heal extremely fast, but when it came to tricky movements like reaching beneath a seat, he was forced to remember he had limits. Sam opened the car door a crack. He pulled the hood up on his sweatshirt, stepped out into the rain, and then leaned back in, keeping the top half of himself dry and gaining a slightly better angle to continue his search. This time he found plenty: Sam pulled out two greasy fast food bags, an empty drink container, and a mangled playboy magazine.

"Dean…"

"Keep looking."

Sam rolled his eyes, tossed all four items onto the seat, then shoved his face to the floor and looked underneath. This time he noticed the corner of what could be a map. It wasn't under the seat, it was sticking out from under the passenger floor mat. Sam grabbed the floor mat and pulled it towards him; halfway up it got stuck on the metal part of the seat. He gave it a good tug and it snapped free, flung straight at him, then fell to the muddy ground at his feet.

"Fuck."

"What?" Dean asked as he pulled on the long sleeve t-shirt he had searched so long to find.

"Found the map," Sam answered with annoyance. He stepped back full into the rain, carefully picked the mud covered mat off of the ground, and began moving it back towards the car.

"STOP!" Dean ordered.

"What?" Sam questioned holding the dripping mess of a mat in front of him.

"Do NOT put that back in my car."

"Why not?"

"Cause it's a fucking mess and I just got her cleaned like a week ago!"

"That would explain the pile of crap under my seat," Sam muttered sarcastically. "What'd you want me to do with it?"

"Throw it out," Dean said, still kneeling in his seat. "Those mats are older than you. I need to replace them anyway." Sam raised an eyebrow. "I'm serious," Dean continued. "Throw it out."

"Okay," Sam said eyeing the garbage on the seat. "Um, could you hand me the rest of that crap?"

Dean leaned down and handed Sam the bags and the drink cup. Sam waited for the last item then realized his brother seemed to think he was done. Sam glared at Dean and they just sort of stared at each other for a bit. Finally, Dean caught on. He leaned down, picked up the magazine, and shoved it back under the seat.

"I'll see you inside," he added, then turned, popped his door open, and jumped from the car. Sam rolled his eyes, kicked his door shut, and scanned the lot for a dumpster.

Three extremely long-feeling minutes later, Dean continued to wait for his brother just inside the entrance of the diner. _Where the fuck is he? _Dean thought. He moved back to the door and practically pressed his face to the glass as he searched through the rain for some sight of his brother. Sam walked along the front of the diner headed for the entrance. As he passed by the Impala he paused and backed up slightly, studying the front of it, then walked past and came running up the steps.

"What the fuck happened to you?" Dean asked as Sam came in out of the rain.

"I had to go all the way around back," Sam said.

"Fine," Dean accepted, then turned away from him.

Keeping his hood up, Sam shook the water off himself and followed his brother past the 'seat yourself' sign, then down the middle of the trailer. One side of the diner was all counter, the other was a row of booths. The place was mostly empty, but Dean walked past several free seats finally deciding on the booth at the very end. He jumped into the first seat as Sam walked just past him and slid into the other side. Sam tossed the map onto the table and leaned back into the cushioned bench.

"When'd you get the headlight fixed?" Sam asked.

"Huh?"

"The headlight, on the car, the one that's been broken pretty much forever," Sam elaborated.

"Oh, yeah, um… a little over a week ago, while you were out of commission."

"Oh," Sam said, suddenly wishing he hadn't brought it up.

"I took her to some local shop," Dean went on as he turned in his seat to look for the waitress, "got a tune up, cleaned her, fixed the light." Dean swivelled back around, hardly satisfied by his search. Sam sat slouched in the bench seat, his arms hugging himself, his eyes staring vacantly at the table. "Hey, you alright?" Dean asked.

"What?" Sam snapped out of it. "Yeah, fine. You don't always have to ask me that, ya know," he added snippily.

"Okay…" Dean responded, a little perplexed.

"I'm just saying you've asked me that like… twenty times in the past week."

"Yeah, well if you give me a reason…"

"I'm not _giving_ you anything, Dean." Sam's tone built.

"Except attitude," Dean returned, "what suddenly got your panties in a bunch?" Sam caught himself and withdrew.

"Nothing," he said quietly.

"Whoa! Did somebody say 'panties'?"

"Yeah Dean… _you_ did." Sam looked up to find his brother completely turned around in his seat, gawkily watching the exceptionally hot girl who had just entered the diner. She walked through the diner and hopped up onto a stool at the counter near the register.

"Damn!" Dean snarled with pleasure. "Um… I'm gonna go get us some menus," he blurted quickly. Before Sam could say anything, he was gone.

Dean strutted to the register and was pleased to find the way things had laid out. She had seated herself pretty much between him and the stack of menus on the counter. Dean leaned in slightly, checking out her long wavy brown hair, or rather the way it fell lightly across the curves of her breasts.

"Can I help you with something?" She asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Uh… yeah. You could hand me a menu."

"Oh," she said realizing, "sure, no problem."

"Two, actually," he corrected. As the menus were handed to him, Dean flashed her his most charming smile. She raised an eyebrow.

"So…" she began, "what is it you think that cute little smile of yours is gonna do?" Dean laughed slightly, then twisted his lips into a sexy smirk that actually topped his smile. "Never underestimate the power of this smile," he stated coolly. She again raised an eyebrow but this time in interest. She let her mouth fall slightly open as she ran her tongue along the inside of her cheek. Dean held his gaze and finally she buckled.

"Lorie," she said holding out her hand.

"Dean," he returned. He quickly noticed the large 'to go' Starbucks cup in her other hand and nodded to it attempting to keep the conversation going. "So ah… do you always bring your own coffee to the diner?"

"I like espresso," she explained, keeping eye contact.

"That's a damn big espresso."

"It's a latte."

"Oh. Where'd you get that thing anyway? We had trouble finding _this_ place."

"It's Starbucks… they're everywhere," she said bluntly, then catching his expression she added, "even a small, _shitty_ town like this."

"I didn't say…" Dean tried to recover.

"You were thinking it," she cut him off with a smile. "Oh… you'd be surprised by some of the v_enders_ in this town," she added with an alluring tone. Now Dean was the one with a raised eyebrow.

"Okay…" he agreed without knowing what he was agreeing to. "Like what?"

"Like…" she began playfully, then lost her thought as she looked somewhere past Dean. "Isn't that guy with you?" She asked.

"Huh?" Dean turned and confirmed much to his regret who she was talking about. "Him? Yeah, yeah he's with me." She continued to stare at a seemingly troubled Sam, as concern slowly crossed her face.

"Is he alright? He looks sort of… down."

"Yeah, yeah he's fine. He's pretty much always like that," Dean tried to assure her in an attempt to bring the focus back to himself. "Now, what were you…?"

"Who is he?" She asked cutting him off.

"Uh…" Dean hesitated, then gave in with a sigh, "that's my brother… that's Sam."

Sam sat listless, slumped into the window with the side of his face pressed against the glass, gazing out at the rain. In short, he looked truly pitiful. Any woman who caught site of him would have promptly brought a hand to her chest, tilted her head, and sighed in compassionate despair over the forlorn hottie. Dean never stood a chance. He had to seriously work if he was going to recover from the pick-up massacre his brother had so innocently thrust upon him. Instead of fighting it, Dean decided it best to play the Sammy card to his advantage. Once he had her fully back on board he only glanced over his shoulder once to check on his brother. It took all he had to control himself from cursing under his breath when his glance revealed Sam in the same position, now tracing raindrops down the window with his finger. _Is he fucking kidding me?_

Sam stared at the water pattern on the glass and recalled its similarity to the car window the night Dean had driven him home from the hospital. He continued to run his fingertip down the smooth cool glass, then let his hand drop limply into his lap. Keeping his head where it was, he shut his eyes and sighed, his whole body shaking in trepidation with the exhale. _That night, that fucking night, _ Sam thought. _Nothing ever happened_.

At first Sam was terrified, terrified at what Ed might do, and terrified that Dean would find out, but when everything remained normal over the time that followed, Sam was forced to confess part of him was actually disappointed nothing had come of it. _Ed said he was gonna fix this, _Sam lamented, _but Dean… he's still… nothing's changed. _

Sam opened his eyes and stared out at the Impala which was parked almost directly in front of him._ Dean knows. He knows I lied to him. Why can't I just tell him? _Sam questioned._ I should tell him… tell him everything… tell him I hated him so much I manifested a demon to kick his ass into line. Fuck. Yeah, that'll go over well. Damn it Ed…_ "What the fuck happened to you?" Sam mumbled out loud.

"Sorry dude, but we both know I went up there for more then menus," Dean mistakenly responded to Sam's question as he jumped back into the booth. Sam looked up, slightly jarred by the return of his brother. "By the way," Dean continued, "you're a shitty wingman."

"Huh?" Sam questioned, having completely missed the last several minutes.

"Forget it. So um… change of plans," Dean said, flicking the map across the table at his brother. "We're sticking around and going out tonight."

"What?" Sam said, then suddenly remembered the girl his brother had followed like a dog to the counter. "Dean, no."

"Yes."

"For some girl?"

"Not just some girl, Sammy," Dean leaned across the table and smiled, "a stripper!"

"What?"

"Dude, she's a stripper!" Dean repeated as he sat back against the booth and draped his arms up and behind him, "AND… she invited us to meet up with her at work tonight!"

"Whadya mean… us?"

"She wants me to bring you."

"No… no way," Sam argued. "Go if you want to, but you're not dragging me along."

"_Yes_… yes, you're coming."

"No… I'm not."

"Don't blame me, it's not my idea. She asked for you to come, fucking _insisted_ I bring you."

"You're full of crap."

"It's true! And it's your own fault, moping in your seat lookin' all pitiful," Dean griped.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh don't play dumb with me brood boy! You're perfectly aware that angsty, _it's the end of my world_ look you've mastered compels girls to feel sorry for you. You're their god damn wet dream!" Sam's jaw dropped open as he tried to pretend he had no idea what Dean was talking about. "Give it up. You know exactly what I'm saying. All women want is deeply disturbed basket cases they can _heal_ and take care of, none of them wanna just fuck anymore," Dean ranted. "If I wanna get laid I'm gonna have to stop shaving, grow my hair out, and master your shoulder slouch!"

"I slouch because I'm tall and I need to bend forward to keep at eye level with you," Sam returned.

"That was low Sammy… low." They sat staring at one other for a moment, Sam appropriately slouched with Dean at eye level, then Sam glanced at the table.

"So… I hate to change the subject, but where are the menus?" Sam asked, seeing no sign of them.

"Yeah, about that," Dean began, "we sort of have to be at the strip club by nine, it's a bit of a drive, and we should get a room first, so… I got it to go."

"You ordered?" Sam questioned incredulously. "Dean, you have no idea what…"

"Swiss burger with fries and a chocolate milk shake," Dean cut him off. Sam backed down, unsure whether to be happy or annoyed his brother had nailed his order so precisely. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

"Yeah…" Sam gave in. Dean leaned forward, slid his lower arms onto the table, and looked his brother in the eyes pleadingly.

"Come on Sammy… _a stripper_… an incredibly beautiful stripper invited us to her club for _free_ to watch her work." Dean bore down on his brother sporting desperate puppy dog eyes then closed with the most manipulative line he could think of. "Do you care about me at all, man?" Sam looked at him and sighed uncomfortably.

"I just…" Sam began, then the waitress called from behind the counter. Dean turned, and noticing their order was up, jumped from the table.

"Hold that thought dude," he interrupted. And again, he was gone before Sam could say anything.

Sam watched as Dean ran to the counter, paid for their food, and then flagged for him to come over. Sam didn't want to get up; he was tired from the drive and had been looking forward to crashing in the booth for a while, eating his burger and fries while they were hot, and then sinking back into the bucket seat of the car while Dean found a motel. _That_ was his plan for the night, not going to a strip club so Dean would have something new to masturbate to.

Sam gave in for the moment, stood, and headed over. _Just tell him you really don't wanna go,_ Sam thought logically to himself._ You're cool with sticking around for the night if he wants to, but it's not your scene, so he's on his own._ Sam slowly shuffled his way towards his brother, but before he could reach him, Dean was out the door with both drinks and the large bag of food in his possession.

Sam simply continued to follow. He tugged the thick, end-knotted strings on his sweatshirt, consequently closing down the hood around his face, shoved his hands into the front pocket, letting their weight sag the fabric past his waist, then turned and pressed his back into the cool metal door, pushing himself out into the rain.

_Dean, about the strip club, _Sam tried the words in his head as he hopped down the steps and into the mud. Dean was at the car already, drinks set on the roof, food bag squeezed under one arm, as he keyed into the door. Sam crossed the front of the car.

"Yo, heads up!" Dean said suddenly. Sam turned just in time to pull his hand from its pocket and catch the keys as they twirled through the air towards his head. Apparently Dean didn't want to deal with leaning across the inside of the car to pull open the passenger lock. Sam stuck the key in, popped the handle, then shook the rain and mud off his shoes as he dropped into the car. As soon as he sat down he turned to his brother, who was not exactly seated yet.

"Dean, about the strip club…"

"Hold this!" Dean cut him off as he dumped the large bag of hot food into Sam's lap. Sam awkwardly shifted, sliding the food into a somewhat comfortable position, as Dean fiddled outside for another couple of seconds, then plunked down into his seat and pulled the door shut. Sam turned and tried again.

"So… about tonight…"

"And the drinks." Dean shoved both drinks into Sam's hands.

"Um… yeah…" Sam faltered, turning and looking for anyplace he could put them down. "It's just that… uh…" Sam leaned forward over the bag of food intending to put at least one of the drinks between his feet. As he shifted, his eyes caught sight of the recently exposed, matless floor. "Um… what the? Dean, there's a hole in the floor."

"Yeah, I know dude," Dean responded off hand.

"You know?" Sam confirmed incredulously.

"Yeah, I meant to get it fixed when I replaced the headlight, but I forgot."

"Um… okay…. isn't that sort of a problem?" Sam asked as he gaped at the four inch hole between his feet.

"It's not ideal," Dean agreed, "but it's not gonna stop the car from moving." Proof in point, Dean shifted to drive and pulled out of the lot.

"Yeah, but…"

"Sam it's fine, we'll get a new floor mat, and I'll fix it the next time you get shot." Dean turned and grinned at him. Sam's face remained steady, in a not-so-amused scowl. "That's a little joke there, Sammy… means you can laugh… ya know… ha ha?" Sam gave no response. "Ha?" Dean added one last time then dropped his smile and gave up. "I'll just drive," he said flatly.

"Good idea," Sam confirmed, as he settled the cold wet cups onto his legs. Sam stared out the window briefly, _he's not gonna take no for an answer, _Sam's thoughts cut into his confidence _Just start…_

"Look," Sam dove in, "I know you want me to go with you tonight, but uh…"

"You don't wanna come, yeah, I sorta caught that."

"Can't you go yourself?"

"No dude, I told you, she expects me to bring you."

"Dean… this girl… if I'm not there, she won't give a shit."

"Actually, she will. She was worried about you Sam. Said you looked totally depressed and I shouldn't leave you alone tonight."

"What?" Sam did feel depressed and he actually didn't want to be left alone, but his idea of 'not alone' was staying at the motel and reading a book while his brother cleaned guns on the opposite bed. He shifted uncomfortably. "Dean… I…"

"Sam, if I show up without you she's gonna think I'm some sort of insensitive jerk for leaving you behind."

"But… you _are_ an insensitive jerk," Sam smirked, hiding his true feeling behind the joke.

"Sam, although you're truly hysterical… I'm being serious," Dean said glaring at him slightly, yet keeping his eyes on the road. "I need you there."

"But, you said so yourself," Sam attempted, "I'm a shitty wingman."

"Yeah, but a necessary one. It's not gonna go smoothly if you don't show up. Sammy, if you mess this up for me I swear to God…"

"Dean, I just…" _Tell him no. Tell him no. Tell him no._ "Can I bring the laptop?" Sam buckled.

"You're fucking kidding, right?"

"_If _I go," Sam bargained, "I want something to do."

"Yeah, 'cause looking a mostly naked woman isn't 'something to do'." Dean looked at his brother and shook his head. "No. No you can't bring the laptop. Not even if you convinced me you were gonna use it to surf for porn. Just… no," Dean finished, truly disappointed in his brother's lack of enthusiasm.

Sam stared at the floor and fought it out in his head. _Don't do it Sam, tell Dean what you want, stand up to him and tell him 'NO'. _Sam raised his head and looked at his brother._ He'll hate you, he'll never forgive you… tell him…_

"Fine, I'll go," the words blurted from Sam's mouth.

"I know you'll go," Dean punctuated with confidence, "and you're gonna be social and pretend to enjoy yourself."

"No." Sam put his foot down.

"Good, cause she's expecting you to be morbid," Dean countered. "Now, let's find a room."

Sam rolled his eyes realizing he had lost every aspect of the battle. He leaned forward over the bag of food, and still longing to solve his awkward drink situation, started to lower one of the cups.

"Stop," Dean said leering at Sam's action out of the corner of his eyes. "If you think you're gonna use the hole in the floor as a cup holder, I'll gladly pull over right now and dump that shake I bought you over your head."

"Fuckin' fine," Sam grumbled in defeat as he leaned back into his seat.

"Good boy," Dean approved in a harmless, yet demeaning tone. "Now hand me some fries."

"With what hands?" Sam asked moodily.

"I don't know, you went to college, figure it out." Dean looked at the upcoming road, pressed his foot to the gas, and cockily awaited his fries.

Sam sighed and took his brother's crap as he grouchily figured it out. _Fuck,_ Sam thought… _fuck.  
_

* * *

AND… _cut_. 

So that concludes CH 5 - hope you liked it. I know you always ask for fast posts, but I need to put a dent in the next 3 chapters before I can post CH 6 - so I'm begging you - please be patient and stick with me -or at least with the story.

I promise - I'll try and move my ass along quickly! It won't be too-too long:)

Back to CH 5: please let me know your thoughts - your dreams - your aspirations…

-Kate


	6. Chapter 6

Hey! It's here!

CHAPTER 6 - or as I've been calling it in my head:

THE STRIPPER CHAPTER!

That said, guess I should throw some warnings on here - not that they're really needed, as 'stripper' sort of implies certain things like… naked breasts, and ya know… reactions to those breasts, but I think you all can handle it ; )

So yet again - I want to thank everyone for reading and especially for reviewing!

Also thanks to those of you who read and reviewed _Decisions In Blood_ (my little angst fest) which I posted recently. Glad I seem to be forgiven for taking that little side track away from EIC. Not that it's so little anymore.

BIG THANKS - to Kaewi for her notes and corrections on this! Couldn't post without you!

NOW:

If you have access to any 90's dance music or sexy techno - throw it on! It'll totally set the mood! Here ya go!

* * *

**Energies and Ice Cream**

**CH 6**

"Do you have anything smaller?"

"I'm sorry?" Sam responded as he snapped out of his head realizing the large man behind the tiny counter had asked him a question.

"Smaller," the man repeated as he opened the cash register. "Do you have anything smaller than a _fifty_?"

"Uh… no. Sorry, that's all I've got," Sam lied as he waited to receive change for the pack of gum Dean had requested. The man sighed irritably and began to count out the change. Sam looked him over. He was tall with broad shoulders, and held a permanent scowl on his face, most likely because he was a small town gas station owner who spent his days and nights inside a glass building no larger than a bathroom. The guy was never going to go for it, _never_, but Sam gritted his teeth and asked anyway, asked just as his big brother had instructed him to.

"Um… I'm sorry but… can I get that all in_ singles_?" Sam kept his gaze to the side wall as the man slowly looked up, scowl intact.

"No. No you can't," he replied forcefully, then returned to counting change.

"Look," Sam interrupted daringly, "I'm sure you're asked for singles all the time, and I'm really sorry, but… my brother, he's gonna give me shit the rest of the night if I don't come back with…"

"Okay," the man cut through Sam's plea. "I'll give you your change in singles."

"Really?" Sam questioned, completely thrown. _Holy crap,_ he thought. _Dean was actually right. And I figured…_

"If you spend_ thirty_," the man finished firmly.

"What?" Sam questioned again, thrown in a slightly different way. "Thirty? Well… can't you just give me twenty singles and the rest…" Sam stopped short as the large, mean man solidified his non-negotiable deal by reinstating his scowl.

"Right," Sam agreed.

Sam exited the small gas station store with twenty singles in one hand and a full plastic shopping bad in the other. He passed the gas pumps, crossed the dark lot, got into the Impala, and dropped the bag between himself and his brother. Dean eyed it suspiciously as Sam thrust the fistful of singles at his brother.

"Here," Sam offered. Dean took the money.

"This doesn't look like fifty," Dean said accusingly.

"That's 'cause it's not."

"How much is it then?"

"Twenty."

"Twenty? Where the fuck is the rest?" Dean shouted. Sam reluctantly glanced at the bag.

Dean grew a sudden and scorching scowl of his own. He snatched the bag into his lap and opened it. He stared inside for a moment, then snapped. "Sam! What the fuck! This bag is filled with Skittles! Bags and bags of Skittles!" As the math slowly hit him, Dean turned to his brother coldly. "You bought _thirty dollars_ worth of Skittles?"

"And your gum," Sam added weakly, knowing full well how much shit he was in.

"Jesus, Sam! You're such a pussy sometimes. Did you suck the guy's cock while you were in there too?"

"Screw you, Dean!" Sam returned fiercely. "It's your own fault for sending me instead of going yourself!"

"Fine, I get it Sam, but Skittles?"

"I happen to like Skittles," Sam said defensively.

"Then buy a bag of Skittles! One god damn bag!"

"It's a gas station store Dean, it's not like they had a lot of choices."

"Uh… floor mats," Dean suggested.

"What?"

"You could have bought floor mats and covered the hole you've been bitching about all night?"

"They didn't have…"

"Hanging on the wall; I can see them from here," Dean pointed out. Sam leaned forward and immediately caught sight of the floor mats. "Fuck!" Sam cursed himself, then slumped back into his seat frustrated. He sat silently for a moment while Dean rummaged through the bag in a futile search for his gum. Sam lightly kicked the edge of the hole in the floor with the tip of his sneaker. "I still like Skittles," he moped. Dean smiled slightly at his brother's innocent stupidity.

"Forget it, Sammy," Dean said backing down. "Let's just get outta here." He shifted the car into drive and pulled back onto the road as he tossed the bag of candy into Sam's lap. "See if you can find my gum, will ya?" He asked. Dean pressed his foot to the gas pedal as he glanced at the clock. "Skittles," he mumbled to himself. "I fucking hate Skittles."

A few minutes later Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot of the _Goodnight Strip Club_. He had been intentionally silent ever since Sam had given up searching for his gum. He knew the silent treatment wasn't exactly punishing Sam, nor was it going to miraculous result in the location of his gum, but he went with it anyway; he had really wanted that gum.

He parked in the far corner of the lot, then picked up the pile of singles and counted through it. He set ten back down on his lap, then lifted his ass off the seat of the car, straightening his groin so he could shove the second pile of bills into his front jeans pocket. As he dropped back onto the seat, he pulled the keys from the ignition, grabbed the bills on his lap, and got out of the car.

Dean headed towards the entrance, then stopped as he realized Sam wasn't following. He circled back to the hood, and threw his hands up in question. Sam gave a reluctant sigh, then got out of the car and obediently walked to his brother's side.

Dean placed one hand on his brother's shoulder, then held up his other hand, waving the small stack of folded bills in front of his face.

"Now," Dean began, breaking his truly pointless silence, "don't use these until I show you the right way to do it. Got it?" Dean stuck the money into Sam's shirt pocket. As Dean removed his hand from Sam's shoulder, Sam quickly grabbed hold of it. He pulled the money out of his pocket, and firmly shoved it back into Dean's hand.

"I'm good, keep it," Sam stated. Dean just shook his head.

"Sammy, these singles are dog eared for delicately sticking into strippers' panties. You're not gonna want any at first, but once you get a couple of drinks in you…"

"I'm not getting drunk and I'm not sticking money into girls' panties." Sam took off toward the club in an attempt to get away from his brother. "I said I'd come but that's all, don't expect me to participate." Dean jogged after him and blocked his path, bringing him to a reluctant halt.

"Sam, I know I told you to go ahead and be morbid, but I think the idea is that eventually, you actually have a good time."

"Whatever," Sam blurted, then stalked around him.

"No Sam, not whatever," Dean said, grabbing him by the shoulder again, this time with some force. "Look, I realize you wanna fight me on this, but… you need to loosen up." Sam rolled his eyes to the sky not wanting to hear it. Dean just continued. "For Christ's sake Sam, have some fun. It's one night. Tomorrow you can go back to being your usual grumpy self."

"I said I'm good," Sam stated flatly.

"No, you're not," Dean returned.

"Dean, don't start," Sam warned, his tone rising.

"Sammy…"

"Look, do you want me to come with you, or not?"

"Well, ya."

"Then drop it, and let's go." Sam again moved past his brother toward the club.

"It just wouldn't kill you to relax once in a while," Dean muttered, unwilling to let it drop. Sam turned around and threw his arms up in disbelief. "Fine," Dean let up. "I get it. We're done. Let's go." Dean shoved Sam's bills into his pants, and took off into the club. Sam shook his head and followed his brother through the dark glass door.

Dean made his way through the small lobby, past the coat check, and straight to the real entrance of the club. It was blocked off with the standard red rope and the standard oversized bouncer. Dean promptly handed over his ID and the entry passes, then stepped past and waited for Sam. Sam held out his ID, then accompanied his brother down the long, shimmery hallway, around the corner, and into the main room of the club.

It was your standard strip club: plush red carpet with deep maroon everywhere else; small circular tables with rounded lounge chairs surrounding them; reflective stage floor with a mostly naked girl grinding a poll.

Sam got a good look around. It wasn't that big, maybe twenty tables on the lower level scattered in a semi-circle around the stage, and another six or so in the balcony. The balcony was located at the far end of the club directly above the bar. Although the place was fairly dark, the bar glowed with a radiance which made all the bottles look like candy: sweet, inhibition-destroying candy.

The other bright spot was the stage. Lit from above, the beams of warm light cut through the simulated smoke which rose and fell lightly around its performer. Angled mirrors lined its back wall to provide maximum viewing, and in the center resided the highly anticipated, consistently worked, pole. Thick, gold, and glowing, it would have somehow been arousing even without a girl wrapped around it. The current showpiece, however, hung inverted with her legs locked around the poll in a way which allowed her to slowly slide downward until her head was on the floor, then her back, then her ass. She then dropped her legs out in front of her, grabbed the poll with her hand, and pulled herself up into the next move.

"Well that was athletic," Sam thought out loud. He turned to Dean, only to find his brother was no longer next to him, but next to the bar.

Dean scanned the club looking for Lorie. As the horrific sound of nineties dance music beat loudly into his head, he reminded himself it was for a good cause, the best of causes, and pressed on. The place was fairly busy. Small groups of guys occupied the tables and lined the edge of the stage, and every so often a girl could be seen with them, either providing a lap dance to the currently playing song, or working the nearest man for the next song. When he made no sight of the specific girl he was searching for, he looked to Sam and nodded him over.

Sam wove through the tables, stopped next to his brother, and glanced around the room.

"So where's your friend?" he asked, voice raised above the music.

"I don't know, probably in the back," Dean guessed loudly. "Beer?" Sam nodded, and Dean stepped over to the bar. He quickly returned with two beers, and handed one to Sam. "So uh… are you really not going to drink a lot?" He questioned.

"I'm not getting drunk if that's what you mean," Sam confirmed loudly. Dean nodded, pulled his keys from his pocket, and held them out.

"Hold these?" Dean didn't really ask, in a gesture that blatantly stated he was going to get drunk.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, and took the keys into his own pocket.

"Thanks. Come on," Dean said as he walked off. Sam took a quick swig from his beer and followed. Dean walked past all the tables and maneuvered to sit in one of the chairs directly in front of the stage. He turned, expecting Sam to be right behind him, then noticed his brother had stopped three tables back. Dean motioned for him to come over; Sam simply took another swig of his beer and glanced away nervously. _What the fuck is he doing?_ Dean whined internally.

"Come on," he mouthed the second Sam turned back around. Sam ignored him, eyed the area, and quickly dropped into a chair at the table closest to him. Dean's shoulders fell in agitated disappointment as he rolled his eyes. _God damn it!_ He walked back and stopped, looming over Sam and the table his brother had clearly chosen out of pure fear.

"They won't bite, Sammy. Trust me, I've asked," Dean assured him. Sam shot him a quick look which seemed to express his disbelief in Dean's statement. He took another sip of his beer. "Fine, Sam." Dean sighed and sat down. "If this is an effort to help me hang onto my singles, you're off to a great start." Sam glanced at him as he continued to take small, silent sips of beer. He then turned away and was slightly startled to find someone else next to him.

"Hi, I'm Holiday." She was sitting on the arm of the chair directly in front of Sam looking down at him. "How ya doing tonight?" She inquired.

"Um…" Sam hesitated, keeping the lip of his beer bottle to his mouth. "Okay?"

"That's a good start," she said with a smile. She was wearing blue thong underwear and a lacy, low cut tank that stretched down long enough to cover most of her ass. It had the word '_sassy_' printed across the chest in broken pink lettering, and was being utilized as a very short dress, when in reality it was only a very long shirt. Sam tried not to check her out, quickly bringing all focus to his beer.

Dean simply smiled, sat back, and enjoyed the unexpected private show, unsure whether it was more fun to watch Holiday, or his brother's awkwardness.

"So," she continued, looking directly at Sam, her glare prompting yet another nervous sip. "Is this your first time in a strip club?" Sam choked slightly on his beer. As he coughed his way through it, he managed a defensive, yet manly…

"No… uh… I've been before." He placed his beer down on his leg, then moved it to the table, let go briefly, then grabbed it again immediately missing its sense of security. Both Holiday and Dean smiled.

"Okay," she said moving to the floor. She squatted in front of Sam and placed a hand on each of his knees, lightly squeezing them. With his breath quickening, Sam backed himself into his chair as if to get away from her. He pressed his arms into the sides of the seat and clung silently and nervously to his beer, cautiously watching her every move. As she slowly slid both her hands up his thighs, Sam tensed. He looked to the ceiling and swallowed a thick knot of air down his throat as he felt himself go hard, his jeans slowly tightening across the bulge. Without even realizing, Sam let his head drop back onto the seat, and his eyes slipped shut into an aroused relaxation. Then he heard her words. "Would you like a dance?" She asked in a harmless tone.

Sam's eyes shot open and he bolted upright as he quickly shifted his cold beer bottle to his lap and pressed it _hard_ into his jeans.

"No, no thanks," Sam panicked, "I'm good."

"Okay sweetie," she said backing down. "Let me know if you change your mind." She smiled, stood, and walked away, but not without exchanging a knowing smile with Dean.

"Sammy, what are you doing?" Dean asked eyeing the position of Sam's beer with a solid smirk.

"What do ya mean?" Sam tried.

"Nothin'," Dean said. "You ready for another beer?"

"No, I'm good."

"Sure you don't want a second one?" Dean glanced at him deviously. "Ya know, one to drink, one to keep your hard on down," Dean shouted intentionally louder than the music. Sam turned, and covered his embarrassment with anger.

"Screw you, Dean!"

"Oh I don't think I'm to one you want to screw, Sammy."

"Shut the fuck up," Sam said leaning forward. Dean burst out laughing.

"Jesus, no wonder you didn't wanna come!"

"What?"

"Nothing, you just… really know how to handle yourself bro. The embodiment of smooth." Dean cracked up. Sam fell back into his chair and stared at the ceiling again, shaking his head.

"Are you done, Dean?"

"Look, it's nothing to be embarrassed by. I mean, it's why we're here, man." Sam sat upright and glared at his brother.

"No Dean, it's why _you're_ here."

"Fine… It's just…"

"What?"

"Maybe you should consider getting a lap dance," Dean suggested.

"Dean…"

"I'm serious, Sam. It might do you some good, and I mean…" Dean glanced over the table at Sam's lap. "you obviously want it." Sam threw his brother a dirty look, and continued to cover himself with the bottle. "I'll buy," Dean offered. "Just pick the girl."

"I don't wanna _pick the girl,_ Dean. I don't want a dance," Sam insisted, slightly wanting the dance.

"Who do you want Sam? Want me to get Holiday back?"

"No."

"Somebody else then?"

"No."

"How about the chick on stage?"

"No."

"Then the girl in the light up cowboy hat."

"No."

"She's got an Australian accent."

"No."

"Then we'll find a school girl, the studious type, somebody more your style."

"NO."

"Catholic school uniform? With a ruler?"

"Dean…"

"Come on… Sammy's been bad?"

"No, Dean!"

"Fine," Dean glanced at Sam's beer bottle. The kid was still using it to keep himself down. Dean leaned over the table, skipped the middle man, and spoke directly to Sam's cock. "Sorry little buddy, can't say I didn't try." Dean reached out his beer and chinked it into Sam's bottle. "Cheers, little dude!"

Sam turned, quickly putting together what Dean was doing, then shifted his body defensively away in a huff. Dean cracked up and went back to drinking his beer.

"So," Lorie began as both brothers registered she was standing in front of them. "Do you always talk to your brother's dick, or just in strip clubs?" She asked. Sam covered his face with his hand and sunk into the chair mortified.

"Strip clubs and comedy clubs," Dean returned without missing a beat. "We've got a great _stand up_ act worked out. Wanna see?" Dean leaned over the table again. "Knock knock."

"Dean!" Sam stood up.

"What?" Dean questioned, playing it confused. "More stage fright?" Lorie smiled and tried not to laugh for Sam's sake.

"No! Er… you just…" Sam fidgeted awkwardly. "I was…"

"Just about to go get another beer?" Lorie finished for him as she stepped forward, took his beer out of his hands, and began to drink it. Sam tilted his head slightly, then caught on.

"Uh… yeah." Thankful for the excuse to leave, Sam took off towards the bar. Dean looked over at Lorie as she strategically sat in Sam's chair, and sipped from the small remainder that was left in his bottle.

"Now what'd you go helping him out like that for?" Dean asked with a smirk.

"I thought that's why you brought him here, so we could help him?"

"Well yeah, but… can't I have some fun too?" Dean grinned.

"Oh… you'll have fun. Trust me."

Dean leaned over the table again, this time to check Lorie out. She was wearing a black halter style top, and tight fitting jeans that cut off at the ankle to reveal strappy silver heels. She looked hot, but it wasn't your usual stripper work outfit. "You look…." Dean began.

"Overdressed?" She finished.

"I didn't wanna to say anything."

"Yeah well, turns out I'm not working tonight."

"Oh," Dean said not even remotely hiding his disappointment.

"Don't worry, I've got you covered."

"Who was worried?" Dean said leaning across the table. It was a small gap between them, and Dean closed it quickly. She turned and smirked slightly at his blatant forwardness. Then someone standing above them cleared his throat. Both Dean and Lorie looked up to see Sam, back already, new beer in hand, looming above them.

"That was fast," Dean said, slightly thrown by the interruption.

"Lola was at the bar…" Sam said uneasily. "So um… I uh…"

"Lola's pretty," Lorie commented.

"Yeah… she's uh… taller than me," Sam mentioned uncomfortably, retreating back to his small, fast sips of beer.

"Well, that happens with eight inch heels," she returned.

"It wasn't the heels." Sam concluded. Lorie reached a hand up towards him.

"I'm Lorie, by the way." Sam grabbed hold with his beer free hand and shook it lightly.

"Sam."

"Yeah I know, uh…" she faltered as Sam seemed surprised at her response, then she continued, "Dean mentioned."

"Oh, yeah."

"It's good to meet you."

"Yeah, you too. Um… thanks for inviting us."

"No problem." She smiled. Sam looked off towards the stage, caught sight of the cowboy clad stripper pushing herself into the pole, then turned away quickly.

"Pull up another chair, bro," Dean offered in an honest attempt to aid Sam's awkwardness.

"What? Um… no… thanks. I'm gonna go find my own table, I'll… I'll see you guys." With that, Sam turned and walked away. Dean and Lorie exchanged a glance, then Dean jumped up and headed after him.

"Sam!" Dean caught him quickly with a hand on the shoulder. Sam turned around. "Sam, come on…" Dean argued, "you don't have to go sit by yourself."

"You don't get it Dean. I just…" Sam dropped his words unsure of what to say. "Just…" He gazed past Dean, back at Lorie, then looked at his brother. "Go be with Lorie," he finished, then he turned and walked away.

Both Dean and Lorie watched as Sam made his way to the extreme opposite corner, found a table far from the stage, yet close to the exit, then sat down. There was a hint of un-admitted concern in both their faces. Dean sighed and took a swig of his beer; he wasn't expecting Sam to just dismiss himself like that. Lorie got up and came over to him. She stood silently next to him for a bit, then ventured to ask.

"How's he doing?"

"I don't know," Dean answered flatly and honestly. Lorie turned to him, studied him briefly, then…

"You're worried about him," she said. Dean glanced at her uncomfortably.

"He'll be fine," Dean insisted, then he turned and stared off at the stage, purposefully avoiding. Lorie continued to watch Sam.

"Let me talk to him," she suggested. Dean sighed. He knew it: she liked the tall, dark, and brooding type.

"Sure," he gave in, "if you think it'll help." Picking up the tone in his voice, Lorie put a hand on his shoulder and turned him to look at her.

"Hey, he's just a kid," she assured him. "And I can tell already you're not gonna enjoy yourself if he's moping in the corner all night." Dean gave in, she was right. He'd practically forced Sam to be here, but if he really was going to sit in the corner and be his usual antisocial self, Dean knew his mind would always be half on his brother, even once he was drunk.

"Yeah," he granted permission, "but… what are you gonna say to him?"

"Stuff. I'll take care of it."

"Okay," he gave in without additional question.

"Now… let's take care of you," she smirked.

Dean raised an eyebrow as Lorie flagged over one of the working girls. The girl slowly and sexily made her way over. She was petite and even with her six inch heels stood almost half a head shorter than Dean. Unlike Lorie, she _was_ wearing the standard stripper garb. Purple thong underwear, matching bra top, and a thin sexy chain link belt that hung off her waist with a glitter. All this was clearly visible through the sheer, low cut dress she wore over it. She ran her hands up her waist to her chest, and adjusted her top in a manner that appropriately presented her smooth, full breasts. Which, Dean couldn't help but notice, were sparkled with a very fine glitter.

"This is Juliet," Lorie introduced. "She'll take care of you while I talk to Sam."

"Uh…" Dean began at a loss for words.

"Come on Romeo," Juliet said slyly, then took his hand and without another word lead him away. Juliet took Dean up the curving stairs and into the balcony. She approached the railing, turned one of the chairs to face away from it, then pushed him down into it. Dean turned around and looked over the railing far below at Lorie. Lorie smiled and waved telling him basically to go ahead and enjoy himself. With that, Juliet slid into his lap, and a slightly startled Dean turned back to his seductress. Lorie continued to watch for a moment, the couple's action clearly in view from the floor, then she turned and looked at Sam.

Sam rolled his beer bottle between in his hands as he stared up at the balcony. His glare fixed on his brother's every move. He was clearly annoyed. Lorie smiled and headed toward the bar.

Juliet sat in Dean's lap making small talk. Although he was very interested in whatever she had to say, he was also not interested at all. She had long crimped blonde hair with thick cut bangs, and his thoughts were transfixed on its length, its waviness, and well… the way it sort of made her look like a mermaid. Sure her name was Juliet, not Madison, but if Juliet the mermaid was currently sitting on Dean's lap chatting up a storm, and pretty much preparing to take her top off at any second, then… _whatever_.

"Do you live around here, or are you from out of town?" She asked.

"Just passing through," he responded.

"Cool, me too! I mean, ya know, in a couple of years."

"Uh… sure." He nodded, then wondered if she could breathe under water. "Um… you're very… shimmery," he mentioned, eyeing her silver sparkled breasts.

"Thanks! It's sugar glitter," she said, running a finger down her chest. "It's edible!" She stuck her finger in her mouth and sucked the glitter from it. Dean's eyes went wide, as his dick went hard, and he considered using his brother's beer bottle trick.

Just then the song changed. She smiled, pulled off her dress, popped off her top releasing her breasts into the night, and Dean could have cared less how hard she knew he was. After all, she was a working girl doing her job. Why should he try to hide it if she was good at her job.

Sam continued to watch the progression of events in the balcony as he chugged the remainder of his beer. He placed the empty bottle onto the table and tipped it back and forth, catching it in one hand, then the other, his eyes never leaving the balcony. Sam grabbed the bottle with both hands and squeezed it hard.

_He's not doing anything wrong. He's not. He just wanted one night out. One night away from all the shit we have to deal with. One night away from all of my shit._ Sam's chest shook slightly as he exhaled, and he wished his beer was full. _What am I doing? He's gonna end up hating me. It's exactly what you're so afraid of, and you're steering him into it. _Sam's thoughts paused for a second as his head slipped into a blank void. He shook it off._ No! Stop over-thinking. Stop making excuses for him. You didn't want to be here. You didn't…_

Sam glanced around at some of the girls. At the heaps of guys relaxed back into their chairs, sunk deep into the upholstery, beer in hand, girl in lap_. Why can't that be me? Why can't I take a night off. One fucking night?_ Sam looked to the balcony. Dean was slumped back into his chair, beer loosely in hand, breasts hovering above him. He seemed so comfortable, so in his element, not a worry on his mind. _Why is it always so fucking easy for him?_

"Hey, mind if I sit?" Sam turned to find Lorie.

"Aren't you supposed to be with Dean?" He questioned.

"Later, he's uh… he'll be okay for now." She glanced upstairs. "I don't think he'll miss me."

"No, doesn't look like it," Sam said bitterly. Lorie took that as her cue to join him. She sat down and placed a tray onto the table. It contained two rows of shot glasses. Sam looked at it, then looked at her.

"That's ambitious," he said raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah well, I was sort of hoping you'd help me with it."

"Not really my thing," he said.

"I'm getting the feeling this whole place isn't your thing."

"No, not really," he said bluntly.

"Your brother seems okay, though."

"Ya think?" Sam said sarcastically.

"You don't like him very much… do you?" Sam was slightly caught off guard by her question.

"I…" he looked away struggling with it, then turned back to her. "He's my brother," was all Sam managed.

"Yeah," she said, a tone of understanding in her voice. She reached down, picked up the first shot, and downed it. As she shook off its affect Sam looked on. He glanced at his empty beer, then at the small empty glass as she turned it upright and placed it down on the tray.

"What was that?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Kamikaze," she responded. "It sounds strong, but it's actually pretty light." Sam nodded, not saying anything. "I did get one for you." She pointed at the double rows of shots. "I got five different kinds, two of each, sort of like the Noah's Arc of shots." Sam smiled. Slightly interested, he leaned forward and looked at the kamikaze designated for him. "It's not that strong," she insisted. "Honest."

Sam stayed silent, picked it up, glanced into the balcony, then downed it. He swallowed, forgetting to breathe for a moment, then exhaled calmly.

"That… was actually good," he admitted in a surprised tone as he placed the glass upside down next to hers.

"It's mostly lemon and triple sec. Wanna do another?"

"Uh… sure," Sam gave in.

"Together?" She suggested grabbing one of the next pair. Sam hesitated briefly, then picked up his second. She nodded and they simultaneously downed the shots. This one was strong and burned as it slid down Sam's throat. He squinted and wheezed as he flipped the glass over.

"Geez, okay, that wasn't like the first one," he commented pinching the bridge of his nose.

"No, that was straight 151 Rum," she admitted, seeming to have no trouble recovering from it.

"Okay," Sam giggled a little and shook his head.

"Now," she leaned closer to him, "what do you _really_ think of your brother?"

- - -

"So, what do you really think of my breasts?" Juliet asked out of nowhere.

"Excuse me?" Dean questioned.

"You seem like an honest, straight forward kind of guy."

"Uh… sure."

"I just got these." She pushed her breasts into his face and rubbed her hands over them, lifted them off her chest, and pressed them together. "What do you think? Honest opinion."

"Um… I like 'em," Dean responded slightly dreamy eyed. "They're… breasty."

"Ya think?" She danced them up and down into his face letting her shimmery skin caress his nose on each upward movement. Dean's eyes crossed slightly as he tried to focus on the beautiful objects which were so pleasantly close to his face. She continued to chat. "I mean… I wanted them to be big, but still perky. Do you think they're big and perky?"

"Oh yeah… definitely… big yet perky."

"Thanks! They were really expensive…" She ran her fingers through his hair, intentionally messing it up as the music hit a crescendo. "I figured they'd be a good investment, but I also considered spending the money on shoes. I just love cute shoes!"

"Who doesn't," Dean said as he continued to not look at her shoes.

"Do you think I made the right choice?"

"Totally, breasts are always the right choice," Dean stated with conviction. "Besides, they're for work, so you can write them off as a business expense."

"Wow! I never thought of that! You're really smart!"

"Yeah, that's what the strippers tell me."

"I can see why," she smiled, then turned fully around. "Wanna smack my ass?"

- - -

Sam slammed down his fourth empty shot.

"He's such an ass!" Sam bitched, his voice wavering. "He's just… sometimes… I don't know what the fuck he's thinking. It's like… he's _not_ thinking." Sam listened to himself talk as he wondered why it felt so okay, almost fun, to say whatever came into his head. He glanced at the small clear glass he had just put down. Lorie placed hers next to it. "What was that one?" Sam asked, feeling a bit warm.

"Goldschlager," Lorie returned calmly.

"Oh," Sam grabbed onto the sides of the table and let his head sway lightly in the direction the room was starting to move. "Is that why it had the little gold flecks in it?" he questioned innocently.

"Pretty much," she answered.

"But it wasn't _real_ gold though… right?" he asked.

"No," she said laughing slightly. Sam smiled, then returned his eyes to the balcony. Any fun he might have been having came to a stop as he eyed his brother enjoying the half naked girl in his lap.

"Who the fuck does Dean think he is telling me what to do all the time?" Sam blurted out of nowhere. "I just…" He clinched the table till his knuckles turned white. "I _hate_ the way he treats me. The way he so totally knows how to play me. To always talk me into doing what he wants. I mean, I'm smarter than that! Hell, I'm smarter than him! Shit," Sam said with a rough breath as Lorie simply let him rant. "He just… Dean just… he's always gotta be the one in control!"

- - -

"Sure I'd let you tie me up," Dean said with an alluring smile to the beautiful lady on top of him. "I mean, if that's what you're into."

"I was only asking for fun," she said, shaking her hips rapidly. "The club won't actually let us do stuff like that. And yeah, I'm into it," she added with a hair toss and a nipple pinch.

With that, Juliet turned around on his lap, and began to slowly and sensually swing her ass in his face for two or three beats of the music. She then swung back around and moved her breasts full on into his face, swaying and bouncing their softness close enough for him to taste, and if he thought he could get away with it, he would have. Instead, Dean settled for their sweet succulent smell. He shut his eyes briefly. _Ah…_ _stripper_, he thought with a lengthy inhale.

They were already on their second song, and as Dean sunk deep into the cushions and clung excitedly to the arms of his chair, he found himself praying the music wouldn't end anytime soon. He would have preferred she be swaying to the slowly sedating beat of Led Zeppelin's _Kashmir_, timing in at a lengthy eight minutes and twenty-eight seconds, but if a techno-y remix version of Ace of Base's, _All That She Wants_ was the disc the DJ had slapped on, he'd get over it because, hey… dancing breasts! Dean moved his shoulders and tapped his foot ever so slightly to the beat.

"You like this song?" She asked.

"I do now," Dean agreed.

"I love it and hate it," she commented, keeping up the hard work. "The DJ plays it all the time so it's stuck in my head like constantly."

"Sounds painful." He smirked. She glanced down at him. He was incredibly good looking, and although she tried to resist, she momentarily got sucked in by… the smile.

"You're really cute," she admitted. "You know that?"

"Yeah, yeah I do." Dean's smirk widened, as he became fairly pleased with himself. She giggled and rolled her eyes away, and Dean suddenly realized, he was in. He had about a four second window. "So um… can I ask you something?"

"Sure," she answered easily.

"Well… I was just kind of wondering… where does the _stripper smell_ come from?" Dean briefly looked up and sheepishly made eye contact with her.

"Huh?" She questioned, sort of confused.

"You know…" Dean explained. "All strippers sort of have the same… distinct… alluring… arousing… _smell_. What's up with that?"

"Um… that's a good question," she paused to think, knowing exactly the smell he was talking about. "I don't know. I guess we each have our own perfume… and some girls use baby powder, and oils. It all just sort of mixes together back in the changing room. So… maybe when we walk through it?" She finally concluded.

"Mmmm… fascinating…" Dean responded casually, as thoughts of backstage nakedness floated through his head.

_I did it! _He triumphed internally_. I penetrated the Stripper Code of Secrecy! I am a god among men! Naked women brushing into each other's misty, mixed up, girly smell! I finally have the answer!_

_- - - _

He doesn't have the answer!" Sam continued to rant. "He thinks he does, but he doesn't! He doesn't know me! I mean… who the hell does he think he is?" Sam slammed a fist to the table causing the small empty glasses to rattle. "He's my brother, not my fucking father! Who, by the way, I don't listen to! So if I don't listen to what my Dad tells me to do, then why the fuck do I keep listening to Dean?" Without prompting, Sam grabbed his final shot, and downed it. Lori looked on slightly surprised.

"Uh… Sam."

"Ya know, I didn't want to be here tonight. But I came… and why?" Sam threw his arms up aimlessly. "I have no fucking idea! Dean just expected me to. He didn't give a flying fuck about what I wanted. He never gives a shit about what I want, or don't want. And I'm suppose to just shut up and take it? Why the fuck does he think he can treat me like… like a fucking kid? Like his employee?"

"Maybe 'cause you let him," Lorie suggested.

"What?"

"Sam, look," Lorie finally piped in, "if you didn't want to come tonight, why didn't you just tell him that?"

"I _did_ tell him!" Sam shouted though the music.

"Then why are you here?" She asked pointedly.

Sam began to speak, then stopped himself and looked away. He tightened his lips and stared off with a slightly pained look in his eyes. His moral dropped as he thought about what was really on his mind, what he actually wanted from Dean, to say to Dean. As he held in all he was feeling, Sam leaned his elbows onto the small table and let his face fall into his hands. He pressed his finger tips hard into his temples as his thoughts began to spin with his head. Finally, Sam let one of his hands drop onto the drink tray, and he grabbed the last shot, Lorie's shot.

"Uh… Sam?" Lorie said, eyeing him. Before she could do anything, Sam downed his sixth shot and stood. He took two steps forward, then stopped to steady himself as he continued with his new obsession of staring into the balcony. He eyed Dean with venom.

_Sometimes I hate him… I just - I want - I want to punch the shit out of him until he gets it - gets what he does to me, how angry he makes me, how… _

Sam stood with clenched fists, then something shifted.

_Ed was supposed to fix this. He was supposed to fucking fix this. But it's not fixed. It's fucking the same. Exactly fucking the same. I just wanna go up to Dean and… I wanna… I just wanna… tell him… I…_

Sam's fists loosened. He stared down at the top of his right hand; it was shaking. He pulled it shut again and glanced back up at Dean, feeling only hurt. He couldn't go up there.

_Aw fuck… why do you have to make it so hard, Dean? Why can't you just… I just…_

A condensed darkness settled in Sam's chest as his anger rushed back at him. He turned it inward and quickly retreated to the spot he had come to dwell in so consistently… avoidance.

Sam stood still in a room full of movement as loud music, thick smoke, jumbled talking, and raw emotion swirled around him, penetrated through him, and finally claimed him in a way that just…

_I need to do something wrong. I need to do something fucking wrong. _

Sam staggered slightly, then moved straight for the exit, practically running out of the club.

"Sam?" Lorie raised her voice as she stood up truly surprised by Sam's action. "Fuck," she blurted under her breath. She had expected Sam to move towards Dean, not away from him.

The soft smooth skin of Juliet's breasts nudged against his nose in a repetitive push, bringing the previously mentioned _stripper smell_ to full capacity. Dean sat back and enjoyed it for the length of the song. Six full songs had come and gone, and as Juliet was about to move into her seventh, Dean snapped out of his desires and realized just how long she had been dancing for him. _This is incredible,_ he thought. _I really need to remember to make friends with more strippers. _

"Mind if I slow down a bit?" Juliet asked as the music changed. "I'm not used to doing this many songs in a row."

"Sure," Dean said. "Whatever you need."

"Really?" She asked hesitantly. "In that case, maybe I'll sit this one out completely, and then start up on the next song. Would that be okay?"

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "I'm impressed you've gone as long as you have."

"Thanks," she said huffing down into his lap with relief, as she pulled her bra top back on. "I was up for the challenge, but honestly, ten dances is a lot to do all in once stretch."

"Ten dances?"

"Yeah, that's what your girlfriend paid me for."

"Girlfriend?" Dean questioned sort of confused.

"Yeah, the brunette. She paid me for ten in advance."

"Wait," Dean said sitting himself upright, "she's not my girlfriend. She works here."

"No she doesn't."

"Yeah, her name is Lorie. I only just met her. Maybe she's new or something but she said…"

"Listen, I don't know what she told you, but it's a small club, I know all the girls. She doesn't work here."

"Uh…" A weird shiver ran through Dean as he shifted around in his seat and scanned the floor for Lorie. There was no sign of her, and as he continued to search, he slowly realized there was also no sign of Sam. "What the fuck?" He questioned as he stood, absentmindedly pushing Juliet off of him in the process. He grabbed onto the railing of the balcony and leaned forward far enough to get a look at the bar below him.

"She's gone," Juliet said from behind him.

"What?" Dean questioned turning around.

"The girl who paid me, she left with some tall kid."

"Sam," Dean mumbled under his breath.

"You know him?"

"My brother."

"They were sitting together at the far back table," she said pointing. "He ran out at some point, and she followed him."

"How long ago?" Dean asked, his panic rising.

"Couple of songs?" She shrugged.

"Fuck," Dean blurted and moved past her.

"Is everything okay?"

"I don't know," he said heading towards the stairs, "but I gotta go."

"Wait! You still have four dances left!" She shouted after him. Dean paused momentarily on the stairs, then cursed to himself and kept moving. He rushed through the lower level towards the exit, and stopped again as he caught sight of the table which Sam and Lorie had been sitting at; it was covered in empty, upturned shot glasses.

_Sam,_ he thought with concern. _You fucking lightweight. What sort of trouble did I get you into this time?_ "Damn it!" He cursed as he ran down the hall toward the lobby.

This girl had flat out lied to him, and had lied to get to Sam. Why? As Dean ran, he slowly recalled everything since their first words in the diner. The way she had noticed Sam, the way she insisted he bring Sam along. Then how she had convinced him to leave Sam alone with her, and how he had foolishly and blindly allowed himself to be led upstairs and distracted. _Ten dances!_ Dean realized. _What the fuck were you thinking? How could you be so fucking stupid?_

"FUCK!" He yelled, pushing into a hard run. "I should have known Lorie wasn't a stripper, she didn't have the stripper smell!

Sam had run straight to the Impala. Well, as straight as he could run being shit-faced drunk. Sitting, he had felt mostly fine, but standing, and then moving, had made the effects of the alcohol fully clear to him. He tripped into the driver side of the car, fumbled with the keys Dean had so trustingly handed him, then managed to get them into the lock. Once inside he pulled the door shut, promptly locking himself in. His breath ran heavy, eyes involuntarily closing and opening as he shook off some of what he was feeling. He fumbled with the keys again, this time managing to get them into the ignition. Before he could turn them, he heard a hard knock on the window, and somebody shouting his name.

"Sam! Sam, what are you doing?" Sam turned to his left to find Lorie, stooping forward, pressing her hands to the glass of the driver side window. _I don't want her here_, he thought. He gripped the wheel hard as a dizzying wave shifted through his head.

"Go away!" He yelled before it could pass, then went back to his keys.

"Sam, open the door, we need to talk," she said calmly through the glass.

"No!" He argued without turning. "No more talking. Just…" Sam paused losing his train of thought temporarily. "Leave me alone!" He recovered, then opened his eyes to realize she was trying the back door. Sam lashed out at all of the locks, slamming his hand on them, making sure no one could get to him, then he turned the keys, starting the car.

"Sam, you're drunk! Really drunk," Lorie shouted through the window. "You can't drive!" Sam held his head steady as the external moving continued to pulse through his head like a slow shock wave.

"That's the idea," he said with an intent filled tone, then shifted the car into gear, and stepped on the gas.

Dean pushed past the bouncer, ran by the coat check, and shoved out the door into the dimly lit night. He stumbled a few awkward steps, then quickly scanned the area. The lot was deserted. Another shiver shot up his spine as his eyes held on the far corner. He touched the pocket where he usually kept his keys, remembering.

"Fuck!"

The Impala was gone.

* * *

Okay - so no holding back this time! 

I wanna to hear from you - I NEED to hear from you. Gotta be honest - I've been working on and looking forward to this chapter for a really long time - so please - please - please post a review if you liked it.

If you always post a review - if you've never posted a review - if you secretly love Ace of Base - I wanna hear from you!

Was I pathetic enough? Are you hitting the button?

PS - For those of you reading Decisions In Blood - there will be a chapter 3. You reviewed me into it!


	7. Chapter 7

Hi everyone!

Here is yet another installment of _Energies and Ice Cream_. I seriously intended for this to go up a hell of a lot sooner, but a good hunk of my time has been going into writing _Decisions In Blood_, and so I dragged my ass a little with posting this. btw: big thanks to all of you who are reading both: )

Between the writing Supernatural, the reading Supernatural, and the watching Supernatural, I am just a little SNOD.

**SNOD (Supernatural Over Dose)** is the acronym I have suddenly begun using to describe that intense, exhausted, brain clouded feeling you get when you indulge in too much Supernatural and are finally pushed over the edge. You know what I'm talking about - maybe not all of you - but a good many of you do!

You can use SNOD in sentences like:

"I think writing two fics at once caused me to snod."

"I like sleep, but apparently I'd rather snod."

And…

"When Sam appeared wearing only a towel, hot damn I totally snodded!"

Ahem…

Anyway, thank you for granting me that small moment to be totally silly/stupid : )

And as always - thanks to Kaewi my dedicated Beta for all her efforts and suggestions!

Now onto…

* * *

**Energies and Ice Cream**

**CH 7**

Dean pulled out his phone and tried calling his brother. He had a small, disconcerting feeling of déjá vu as it continued to ring unanswered. _Fuck Sammy, not again._ He slammed the phone shut as the message came on, then let out a long sigh. How could he have let this happen? How could he have been so stupid as to let himself get duped by some chick? _Same as always,_ Dean admitted, _same as always… it was the breasts._

Dean glanced across the desolate strip club parking lot as he rubbed the back of his neck; then, as he had no better plan, he walked through the lot and started hoofing it down the long, dark, dirt road.

Sam struggled as he tried to keep both his focus and the Impala on the road. He had pulled out of the lot leaving Lorie, and more importantly Dean, behind. _What are you doing, Sam? What the fuck are you doing?_ He thought shakily. Then he heard his thoughts out loud.

"Sam, what do you think you're doing?" Lorie's voice came from the passenger seat. Sam turned and screamed as he found her suddenly and somewhat magically sitting next to him. "Sam, stop the car," she demanded. Sam just stared at her dumbfounded as the car continued to move down the road.

"You… you…" he stuttered. She leaned over and grabbed the wheel, pulled herself across the car, and slammed her foot on the break. Luckily, Sam hadn't managed to go over ten miles an hour yet, so it was a pretty soft stop. "How...? You…?" Sam continued to stumble.

"Sam, calm down," she said as she shifted the Impala into park. "It's okay, it's just me," she explained. Sam backed himself up against the driver side door, trying to steady both his head and his nerves.

"Well _yeah_ it's you! I can _see_ it's you! What I can't see… _tell_... I mean… how the _hell_ did you just appear in the passenger seat?" Sam finally managed.

"Sam, think a little broader. I'm not Lorie, Dean's date for the night," she widened her eyes, urging him to connect the dots, "I'm…" Sam just stared, dumbfounded. "I'm…" she pressed, as Sam shook his head. "Come on Sam, I'm…"

"Lorie… the _stripper_?" He guessed. Lorie's face dropped as she sighed in exasperation.

"Sam, for Christ's sake! I realize you're drunk as shit, but isn't it fucking obvious at this point?"

"Um…" Sam shrugged. "No."

"Ugh! It's Ed! Ed! I'm Ed, Sam!"

"Ed?" He questioned glancing her over. "But… but you look so… so… pretty," he concluded.

"Yeah well, that was just to trap your brother. By the way, what do you think?" He said grabbing his breasts. "The halter top's nice, right?"

"Uh… you're kinda freaking me out, man," Sam blurted uncomfortably.

"Yeah," Ed agreed as he let go of his boobs. "Okay kid, shut your eyes." Sam did as he was told and tried not to fall over as the black vertigo set in. "Alright, open 'em." Sam opened his eyes to find the Ed he remembered sitting next to him.

"Hey…" Sam said with a goofy smile as he looked on at himself, "It _is_ you!"

"Jesus, you sound almost happy to see me," Ed said with surprise.

"I look different," Sam noticed.

"I added a goatee," Ed said scruffing his dark hair-covered chin with his fingers. Sam stared for a minute unsure, then nodded.

"I look damn good with a goatee," Sam said surprised.

"Yeah, makes me look a little more sinister," Ed added.

"Hey Ed…" Sam leaned forward slightly. "You _are_ more sinister," he whispered.

"Yeah, guess I am." He smiled and slapped Sam on the leg. "Okay kid, shift over."

"What?"

"Trade seats."

"No," Sam said throwing his hands back onto the wheel. "Fuck you, I'm driving!"

"Why? What the hell are you trying to prove?"

"I'm not proving anything."

"Ya got that right."

"Fuck... What are you practicing to be... Dean? Why don't you…"

"Are you trying to get yourself hurt, Sam? Is that what you want? To hurt yourself so your brother notices something's wrong?"

"No," Sam said defensively, "Dean wouldn't… he didn't…"

"Good, 'cause at your previously demonstrated ten miles an hour, you couldn't cripple a chipmunk with this thing."

"I'm not trying to hurt myself," Sam said shifting the car back out of park.

"What. The car then? I don't think you want to do that either, Sam."

"Shut up, Ed! You don't know what I want."

"Yeah, actually, I do, remember? We had this discussion. Your thoughts, my penance."

"So then why the fuck are you stopping me? Isn't this what you want?" Sam stepped on the gas pedal. "Isn't it part of your plan? You get me drunk, I get me hurt?"

"No. Sam, you've got it in reverse."

"What…" Sam thought it through again confused, "_I_ get me drunk, _you_ get me hurt?"

"No, Sam, the car," Ed said, exasperated. "The car is in fucking reverse; we're moving backwards."

"Fuck." Sam stepped on the break and the car came to a jerking stop throwing them both back into their seats. "Damn it," Sam cursed himself.

"Yeah, that wasn't one of your more impressive moments," Ed mentioned with a smirk. Sam let his dizzy head drop onto the steering wheel as he tried like hell to keep his foot on the break. His breath began to run heavy, then he turned and looked up bleary eyed at Ed.

"I wasn't trying to hurt myself and I wasn't trying to wreck Dean's car."

"Then what the fuck was up with that little, 'that's the idea', teen angst line I heard you deliver when I said you were too drunk to drive?"

"That was…" Sam sighed, slightly embarrassed. "That was just _talk_," he admitted. "I didn't actually mean it."

"Didn't mean it, Sam? You pretty much only said it to yourself!"

"I know, I just… I…" Sam paused for a moment, struggling with his thoughts and emotions, then gave in to what he really wanted to say. "Where the hell have you been?" Sam questioned with hurt in his voice. "Two weeks, Ed. You've been gone for two weeks! You said you were gonna fix it? You promised… you…" Sam dropped his words and continued to stare at Ed looking slightly heartbroken in his disoriented and drunken state.

"Kid, you gotta be kidding me," Ed said, completely thrown by Sam's outburst. Sam's vertigo grabbed hold of him and he slumped back down onto the wheel. As his foot slid off the break, the car began to roll slowly backwards. Ed calmly reached over and shifted the car into park. He stared at Sam briefly, then sighed.

"Come 'ere." Ed turned himself around in the seat, awkwardly pressing his back against the dashboard, as he pulled Sam off the steering wheel and slid him across the bench seat. He shifted Sam to the passenger side of the car as he maneuvered himself into the driver's seat, successfully switching places. He pushed Sam back onto the seat, but the second he let go, Sam slid over sideways across the center of the bench, his face landing straight in Ed's lap. "Beautiful," Ed quipped.

He grabbed Sam again, and pushed him back up; this time, he didn't let go. Ed lifted Sam's head and looked him straight in the eyes; unfortunately, Sam's eyes were closed. Ed sighed again, and flicked Sam in the forehead.

"Meh?" Sam said, his eyes remaining shut. Since Ed had no idea what 'meh' meant, he flicked him again. "Staap!" Sam's eyes jolted open, blinked wide, then came to focus on Ed.

"Sam?" Ed grabbed him gently by the chin. "Ya with me, here?"

"Err… yeah." Sam squinted convincingly.

"Your problem…"

"Yeah," Sam slowly rejoined him, "my problem…"

"I'm gonna fix it… I will, but wrapping Dean's car around a tree isn't part of my plan, and whether you realize it or not, that's what you were on route to do just now." Sam listened, and really heard him, even through all the drunken dizziness, he heard him.

"You're right," Sam agreed. "Umm… sorry. You drive." Sam looked around, as if ready to move out of the driver's seat, imminent confusion crossing his face when he realized where he was.

"How did…?"

"Okay," Ed said, patting him on the shoulder, "you got yourself?" He asked, questioning Sam's stability.

"Yeah, but…"

"What?" Ed questioned. Sam just sort of stared at him, and as Ed picked up on the expression in his eyes, he realized the kid looked kind of hurt.

"I'm sorry I was gone so long, Sam… honest. I was just waiting for the right time," he explained, then added, "besides, I'm here now."

Sam's gut unexpectedly twisted with temporary relief as Ed's words briefly satisfied his craving for empathy. Sam was both touched and comforted; Ed really was going to fix it.

"Thanks," Sam managed with quiet sincerity.

"Don't mention it." Ed replied casually, then turned back to the wheel.

"So um, Ed?" Sam questioned hesitantly. "Do you um… have some sort of plan?"

"Yeah, actually I do."

"Mind telling me what it is?" Sam pressed.

"Doesn't matter, it'll have to wait. You're too drunk," Ed said flatly. "Ya know, even with the amount and pace, which thanks to you was more and faster than I planned, that gargantuan body of yours _still_ should have balanced the alcohol. Who knew you couldn't fucking hold your liquor?"

"I did!" Sam returned with a proud drunken smile.

"Really?" Ed couldn't help laughing. "Great job, kid. I'll list that among your accomplishments of the night. Now, let's go get you some coffee, _then_ we can get back to my plan." As Ed shifted fully into the seat, his leg got caught on something. He reached down and yanked up a plastic shopping bag. "What the fuck is…"

"Hey! My Skittles!" Sam shouted joyously as he snatched the bag away from Ed.

"Um, yeah, so anyway… Sam?" Sam opened the bag and started digging through it, completely oblivious that Ed was still trying to talk to him.

"Okay, kid," Ed gave in. "Go ahead, float your boat. I'll ask my question later."

As Ed got himself situated, Sam began to repeatedly open bags of Skittles, only to dump them out into the shopping bag. Ed glanced down, confused by Sam's actions and curious with his diligence.

"Uh… Sam?" He broke down and asked. "What the fuck are you doing?" Sam continued to open and dump the bags of candy, three at a time, tossing the empty wrappers out onto the floor. Since Ed's question seemed to pertain to Skittles, Sam heard it, and decided to answer.

"I just realized," Sam explained without stopping his work, "if I open ALL the little bags of Skittles, and dump them into the big bag, I'll have ONE… BIG… BAG… of SKITTLES!" Ed just stared at him, silently noting another accomplishment which could be added to Sam's 'list'.

"Christ," Ed finally scowled, then shook his head and turned away.

"You want some?" Sam offered, overly excited by the idea of sharing.

"No thanks."

"You sure? They're a rainbow of flavors," Sam added in a tempting tone.

"No," Ed repeated.

"Fine," Sam said slightly hurt, and stuck his head back into the bag. Ed glanced at him, threw an arm over the back of his seat, and decided to try his original question again.

"Sam, can I ask you something non Skittles related?

"I guess," Sam said still fast at work.

"If you really weren't trying to hurt yourself, and you weren't trying to wreck Dean's car… then what the fuck _were_ you doing?"

"Nothin'," Sam responded almost child-like.

"No really. I mean… you had some sort of intent. You almost looked like you were…" Ed stopped abruptly as he realized the very simple answer. "Holy shit. You were flat out running away, weren't you?" Ed concluded. "Like a six year old with a giant hobo bag of Skittles, you were fucking running away." Sam looked up at him slowly, caught.

"Yeah," Sam admitted pitifully. "Sort of."

Ed couldn't stand the look in Sam's eyes. He turned away, shifted the car into drive, and headed it down the road letting it slowly pick up speed. This was his fault, he should have been able to fix things for the kid faster, but humans, they were so damn unpredictable. He'd never had to deal with anything like this before, and it bothered him slightly when he realized he was seriously starting to care about the kid.

"Aw… fuck." Ed sighed.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, sounding concerned about him.

"Nothing. I just…" Ed shook his head and gave into it. "Alright kid, give me some damn Skittles."

"Really?" Sam said brightening.

"Yeah, really."

"What color you want?"

"Blue."

"There is no blue."

"What do you mean, no blue? It's a rainbow of fucking colors."

"Flavors…"

"Whatever. Blue's in the rainbow, right?"

"Yeah, but not in the bag."

"Let me see." Ed stuck his head into the bag. "Well I'll be damned… again. There isn't any blue."

"Told ya," Sam said, both their heads now stuck in the bag.

"Hey… is that a Chicklet?" Ed asked. Without warning, the car suddenly began to bump and jolt about harshly. Ed and Sam looked up from the bag to find Ed had driven off road. They were headed up a steep rocky hill, straight towards a tree.

"FUCK!" Both Sam and Ed screamed loudly as Ed slammed his foot to the break. The car still made impact. As the Impala came to a motion-severing halt, Ed, Sam, and roughly 2800 Skittles flew forward slamming hard into the dash.

Dean had only been walking for a few minutes when he saw the Impala far in front of him up the long straight-away of a road. It was just sitting there, at a dead stop, red tail lights beaming into the night. It seemed to be simply parked in the middle of the road. _What the fuck?_ Dean thought, completely caught off guard. He broke out into a hard run, having no idea what to expect when he got there. Would Sam and Lorie both be inside? Would Sam be okay? Would it be empty? _God, please don't let it be empty,_ he thought. Even if Sam were hurt he'd be able to bust into action, but if Sam were just missing, with no leads...

Dean picked up his pace as he narrowed in on his car. He was just about there when the break lights blinked, and the Impala pulled away.

"Shit!" He cursed as he tripped to an awkward stop. "Great! Well at least it's not fucking empty!" Dean inhaled two deep breaths then took off again, pushing himself harder than he thought he could run. _Keep going, just keep fucking going._ The words screamed in his head as he quickly began to lose ground. _Fuck… fuck… Sammy… Keep moving Dean, keep moving,_ his thoughts rushed.

As the Impala continued to pick up speed the realist in him began to register he was never going to catch it. Dean let himself slow, and then finally stop. He leaned forward, exhausted, and supported his upper body by pressing his hands hard onto his bent knees. Dean gasped heavily attempting to catch his breath as he watched the tail lights slowly diminish down the road.

There was a sharp turn coming up at the far end, Dean could see it from where he stood; he waited and watched knowing that the moment the car made that turn, it would be gone, fully gone, taking both his hope and his brother with it.

The car didn't turn.

Dean watched as the Impala continued straight; he could hear a rumble and then a loud pop as the break lights came to a still. Dean stood up straight.

"Shit, I never thought I'd be happy to see my car crash." And with that, he took off into another sprint.

Ed felt himself slowly wake. He could hear the low hum of the engine, as well as what he could only assume to be the rattle of Skittles as they rolled from the dash to the floor. He brought a hand to his head slowly realizing it hurt. This being human shit had its moments of really… well it sucked ass. Ed sat up and shook the dizzy feeling he was experiencing off. He steadied himself, then turned to check on Sam. Sam was strewn in an unconscious heap on the passenger side floor. All Ed could figure was that like the Skittles, he had hit the dashboard, then slid off. As he stared at Sam, another feeling similar to that obnoxious pain moved through his chest.

"Kid?" He questioned, as he realized Sam could seriously be hurt, hurt in a way that had not been under his control. Ed continued to stare at him. Why did he look so much younger now that he was hurt? "Sam get up!" Ed said forcefully, as he pushed his feeling aside, far, far aside. Ed reached down, grabbed Sam by the shoulders, and slid him up from the floor. He rested Sam's upper body on the passenger seat, then dragged his legs up and over towards the driver side, somewhat stretching his lanky body out. Sam immediately moaned in response. "Shit, come on Sam, wake up, I need you to wake up!" As Sam slowly woke, relief began to set in; maybe the kid was okay, maybe he _could_ get this back on track. Then, Ed heard something.

"Sam!"

Ed turned and peered out the back window of the car, quickly discovering the source. Dean was on the road, running straight for them.

"Shit!" Ed blurted. He punched his fist hard into the seat. Dean would be there in moments. Ed stared down at Sam, and sighed heavily. "Fuck," he gasped, he had no choice.

Sam continued to come to, sort of. His head and chest were face down on the passenger seat, his legs tangled in a sprawled mess across the driver's side. He pushed himself up, and looked around groggily. He could hardly see, as everything was moving, and blurred. He glanced around the car.

"Ed?" He questioned quietly as he began to realized the car was empty. _Where is he? _Sam thought. There was a sudden knock on the passenger window as somebody shouted his name through the glass. _Ed?_ Sam thought again as he turned back to face the window. Sam tried to focus and keep himself up as he gazed through the window at…

"Dean?" Sam slipped back and forth quickly from Dean to darkness, from darkness to Dean, as his brother banged on the glass shouting something about locks. Sam just stared at him, completely confused, completely disoriented.

"Where's Ed?" Was all he managed softly before his arms buckled and he collapsed face down onto the seat, then slid back off onto the floor.

Outside the car Dean dropped his hands from the glass.

"Great," he blurted sarcastically. He had already tried both doors on the passenger side, and as he ran to the driver's side, he reluctantly entertained his annoying hunch that the doors there would be locked as well. Dean stumbled over the rocky ground. It was a fairly steep hill, riddled with large stones and fat stitches of tree roots which worked their way in and out of the earth. It was a lumpy and hazardous terrain to say the least, and the Impala seemed to be imbedded on top of, and even into, it.

Dean pulled the handle on the back door as he moved past it, then subsequently grabbed the one on the driver's door. He stood yanking on both at once; as anticipated, neither opened.

"Fuck!" Dean cursed, swiping a hand through his hair. He let out a long pre-exhausted sigh, then cursed again as his eyes caught sight of where the tree and car seemed to connect. He stepped forward, placed one hand to the tree, and his other to the hood, the engine still warm and running beneath the smooth vibrating metal. Much to his relief, there actually seemed to be little damage to the body of the car. However, a small, low limb of the tree was crammed into the shattered remains of the headlight.

"Damn it! I just fucking replaced that bitch!" Dean pushed off both the tree and car in one motion, then glanced back into the car as a choking scent hit his nose.

"No," Dean gasped with a shudder. He leaned against the window and pressed his hands and face against the glass; peering inside, he quickly confirmed the source of the scent.

"Fuck… Sammy! Sam!" Dean slammed the palm of his hand against the window. "That fucking hole!" Dean watched as the white smoky gas wafted in through the hole in the passenger side of the floor; Sam's face was right next to it; the car was filling with exhaust.

The tailpipe had to be caught in the ground, blocked or plugged up by the rocks and roots, that's all he could figure. Dean ran to the back of the car and threw himself down. He could barely see underneath. He felt around hastily with both hands searching for the pipe. It just wasn't there. He shimmied towards the wheel; maybe it had gotten bent. As he moved, his leg slammed into something hard and he heard a clink. That was no rock he'd hit. Dean sat up and grabbed behind him. The moment he took the object into his hands, its reserved heat sent an unexpected shock through him, and he dropped it abruptly back to the rocks with a noisy clank. Although it was dark, Dean's other senses quickly identify the hot chunk of metal to be the muffler, the ground had ripped it clean off the car.

Dean glanced back underneath the vehicle. It was now clear what was happening. The tailpipe was gone, and the underside of the car was pretty much pressed into the ground, the rocks and weeds blocking and feeding the fumes back up into the bottom of the car, up into the hole.

_Get to him Dean,_ he hastened himself. _Get to him now, or he dies._

Dean grabbed the first rock he could put his hands on, stood, and rushed to the back passenger window.  
"Sorry baby," he apologized on his way, "said I'd never hurt you, but men are lying bastards." Without hesitation, Dean threw the rock hard into the window. It shattered the glass instantly, blowing small shards all over the back seat; the rock itself bounced onto the cushions, then off onto the floor. Dean reached in the window, flinching slightly as he gashed his arm open on the glass which had stubbornly remained behind, then popped the front locks. He opened the door, stretched across the seat, and turned the keys out of the ignition, abruptly bringing the motor to a stop.

Dean shoved the keys into his pocket and grabbed Sam, rolling him over onto his back. He hooked his hands under and into his brother's armpits, then, giving a tough yank, pulled him from the car. Dean just kept stepping backwards rapidly down the hill, dragging Sammy's limp body along the ground. When he was far from the fumes, he turned and headed towards level ground and a somewhat soft-seeming patch of dirt and twigs. He dropped his brother down, then shifted around in front of him.

There was a dim street lamp near them, and Dean was thankful he would be able to get a good look at his brother. He grabbed Sam by the chin and turned his face upright. The streetlamp revealed closed eyes, mussed hair, and two bright Skittles which seemed to be stuck to Sam's cheek.

Dean raised an eyebrow, and smirked slightly as he flicked the candy from his little brother's face. He was positive he didn't want anything to do with the knowledge of what_ that _was about.

He leaned forward, slipped a hand under Sam's neck, and lifted slightly. Sam's head titled back and his mouth came open. Dean leaned forward until he felt Sam's warm breath on his face, then he backed away as he not only felt it, but smelt it. Talk about fumes, he had no idea what his brother had drank, but it was strong enough that he could swear the stench of it just burned his eyes. But that was beside the point; it didn't matter what Sam had drank, it mattered what Sam had inhaled. Dean stood and hauled ass to the trunk of the car. He opened it and rummaged through the mess. When his hands landed on a flashlight he pulled it out, flicked it on, and directed the light back inside continuing his search with the glory of sight.

"What a fucking mess," he cursed to himself, and it was. There was no order to the trunk: bunches of bags and cases filled with guns, ammo, rope, knives, you name it, and it was all just sort of strewn about. _I so fucking need to make Sammy get in here and clean this,_ he thought to himself. Then, in the far back corner, he saw what he was looking for.

Dean grabbed it and pulled it from the piles of crap, then rushed back down the hill. He knelt on the ground next to Sam and ripped the old, slightly rusted oxygen tank from its beat up, dirt-crusted case. Dean turned the knob and held the mask over his own face. He took a breath to make sure it was working, but the gas struggled to reach him. Dean tapped the gauge and tried to turn the knob further; it was simply stuck. As he gripped his palm hard against the knob, he glanced down at his brother.

Sam tossed about whimpering softly, his face tightening with worry lines, his head rolling back and forth in the dirt. As Dean's priority was to get the tank working, he tried to put the troubled tossing out of his mind. His focus quickly broke.

"Ed… Ed…" Sam gasped in-between short breathy moans. Dean stared hard at his brother. He was almost ready to dismiss it, but then it came again.

"Ed… Ed…" Sam called in a sorrowful, wanting tone. Dean's gut sickened, as his expression hardened.

"Who the _fuck_ is Ed?" He spat to himself with a growl.

Dean momentarily dismissed it as he gave the knob an angry twist, cracking it through whatever rust had been binding it. As he heard the gas increase, he placed the mask over Sam's face, and pulled the elastic behind his head. Sam woke slightly but sharply, brought both hands up, and pushed the mask off in a disoriented and scared panic.

"Sammy, no!" Dean scolded. He grabbed his brother's wrists and pinned them to his chest with one hand, then readjusted the mask with his other. "You're okay, Sammy," he insisted into the rapidly drifting, faintly open eyes. "You're okay." Dean brushed his hand through Sam's hair and watched as his brother's eyes flickered shut.

"Ed…" The name moaned softly from beneath the mask one last time, then Sam's head dropped to the side, and he was out.

Dean's focus did a one eighty shift back to _Ed_.

It wasn't the fact that his kid brother had mumbled some stranger's name which bothered him, it was the way in which he had mumbled it. Dean knew that tone, that needy, clingy, take care of me, tone. Dean knew it well, and he'd never heard Sam use it attached to anybody's name, other than his _own_.

Dean pushed a rising breath of jealousy out his nose, as he stared at his brother.

_Who the fuck is Ed? _ He thought. _Who the fuck is Ed?_

* * *

Thanks for reading! As always, I love to hear from you guys and appreciate anyone who takes the time to hit the little button and write me : ) 

-Kate  
PS: Just for the record, the number of Skittles wasn't randomly chosen. I bought an average size bag and did the math - 2800 - I believe my initial reaction upon hitting the equal sign was something along the lines of... 'holy shit'.


	8. Chapter 8

Okay, show of hands- who's ready to kill me?

Clearly it's been a while, which I AM sorry for. I have reasons for the long downtime, and they are good, but I will still spare you from hearing about them.

I do want to thank all of the people who kept sending reviews and PMs basically telling me to get my ass moving and well… sending general love.

Seriously – THANK YOU for all the support on this story! Continuing to hear from you guys really helped me get back into the swing of working on this!  
There are roughly 4 chapters left. They won't be up super fast, but they shouldn't have the downtime we just went though either. I promise I am fully committed to finishing this story and will post as quickly as I can so please please please… continue to stick with me!

As always I need to thank my Beta Kaewi, who informed me she was very excited because I used a colon in a sentence successfully. Go me!

She also urged me to add a recap at the head of this chapter since who could possibly remember what the hell happened last time.

So here it is - my recap – Supernatural Style! (ignore the length - I got carried away)

Cue- Fire Burst SFX and Flame Font:

* * *

**_THEN…_**

"For some girl?" Sam questioned.

"Not some girl," Dean explained, "Lori is a stripper, and she invited us to meet her at work tonight."

"Whadya mean us?"

"She wants me to bring you."

"No way," Sam argued.

"You're coming."

"No, I'm not."

**--_smash cut--_**

"Would you like a lap dance?" Holiday slid her hands up Sam's thighs; he swallowed a thick knot of air down his throat as he felt himself go hard, then panicked and shifted his cold beer into his lap.

**--_smash cut--_**

"I'm gonna find my own table." Sam stated firmly. Dean and Lorie exchanged a glance.

"Sam, come on…" Dean tried, "you don't have to sit by yourself."

"You don't get it Dean. I just…" Sam faltered. "Go be with Lorie." Sam turned and walked away.

"You're worried about him," Lori said.

"He'll be fine," Dean stated with uncertainty. Lorie continued to observe Sam.

"Let me talk to him."

**--_smash cut--_**

"Aren't you supposed to be with Dean?" Sam questioned as Lorie dropped into a seat.

"I don't think he'll miss me." She glanced to the balcony where Dean sat with a very buoyant stripper on his lap.

"Doesn't look like it," Sam said bitterly. Lorie placed a tray on the table. It contained two rows of full shot glasses. Sam raised an eyebrow. "That's ambitious."

"I was hoping you'd help me with it."

"Not really my thing," Sam contested.

**--_smash cut--_**

Sam downed his sixth shot and stood.

"Why the fuck does he treat me like a fucking kid?"

"'Cause you let him," Lorie suggested.

"What?"

"Sam, if you didn't want to come tonight, why didn't you just tell him that?"

"I did tell him!" Sam shouted.

"Then why are you here?"

Sam stood speechless; he turned and stared into the balcony, stared at his brother. Without another word, he ran out of the club.

**--_smash cut--_**

"Ten dances?"

"Yeah, that's what your girlfriend paid me for," Juliet explained as she put on her top.

"Girlfriend?" Dean questioned.

"Yeah, the brunette. She paid me for ten lap dances in advance."

"Wait," Dean corrected, "she's not my girlfriend, she works here."

"Listen, I don't know what she told you, but she doesn't work here."

**--_smash cut--_**

Dean pushed past the bouncer and shoved out of the club into a deserted parking lot.

"Fuck!" He shouted.

The Impala was gone.

**--_smash cut--_**

"Alright kid, open 'em." Sam opened his eyes to find Ed sitting in the Impala next to him.

"Hey!" Sam said. "It is you!"

"Jesus," Ed replied, "you sound almost happy to see me."

"Where the hell have you been?" Sam questioned suddenly. "You said you were gonna fix it! You said…" Sam trailed off looking slightly heartbroken.

Ed couldn't stand the look in Sam's eyes. He turned away, shifted the Impala into drive, and headed it down the road. This was his fault, he should have been able to fix things faster, and it bothered him when he realized he was starting to care about the kid.

**--_smash cut--_**

"FUCK!" Ed slammed his foot to the break. As the Impala came to a motion-severing halt, Ed, Sam, and roughly 2800 Skittles flew forward slamming hard into the dash.

**--_smash cut--_**

"Dean?" Sam gazed out the car window as his brother banged on the glass shouting something about locks. "Where's Ed?" Was all Sam managed before his arms buckled and he collapsed.

"Sam!" Dean panicked. White smoky gas wafted in through the hole in the passenger side floor; the car was filling with exhaust.

Dean threw a rock hard through the window, popped the locks, and dragged his unconscious little brother to safety.

"Ed… Ed…" Sam tossed about whimpering softly. Dean stared down at his brother and pushed out a breath of jealousy.

_Who the fuck is Ed? _ He thought. _Who the fuck is Ed? _

_**NOW…  
**_

**Energies and Ice Cream  
**

**CH 8**

"What the fuck happened tonight?" Dean stared at himself in the rearview mirror as he asked the pretty much pointless question, pointless because there was nobody there to answer it. Well, nobody conscious. Dean sighed and glanced to the side of the car that contained his incapacitated little brother. Sam was flopped against the passenger door, limbs strewn in many an awkward angle, head hung back with mouth wide open, and just the smallest hint of slimy drool making its way down the side of his chin. Dean rolled his eyes and glanced at the clock.

Eight minutes. He had been sitting in the parking lot of the motel staring out at their room door stalling for eight minutes.

_Okay man… you can't sit out here fucking forever. Let's do this._

Dean reached over and popped open his door. He paused momentarily as the rattling sound of loose Skittles hitting the pavement filled the otherwise silent night. It had taken almost an hour to dig the Impala out of the mess of rocks and roots the crash had lodged it into, and when it was finally free, Dean gave little notice or care to the mess which remained inside... until now.

"Fuck me," he grumbled, then shoved the door open the rest of the way and stepped out. As his feet hit the ground he could feel the candy crunch under his shoes. He really wasn't sure if he was stepping on the candy which had just rolled from his car, or if he was stepping on the candy which had managed to permanently imbed itself into the treads of his shoes because the entire front floor of his beloved Impala was rolling with them. Either way, he decided it was best not to give a shit, and made his path around to the other side of the car.

Dean pulled open the passenger door, and although Sam was still buckled in, the moment the door gave way a good portion of his body slid and hung from the car. Dean stared at the situation. Sam was big, Sam was heavy, and Sam was one hundred percent dead weight. This wasn't going to be pretty.

"Sam!" Dean tried the old tap-the-face bit. "Sammy, wake up!"

Nothing.

"Sammy, come on man." Dean upped the taps a notch to slaps; Sam slowly and sort of came to.

"Uh... stop it. Stop… face slaps," Sam mumbled, disoriented. He paused a moment, then… "Deeeean!" Sam shouted without opening his eyes. Dean quickly covered Sam's mouth.

"Sam! Douse it! I'm right in front of you." Sam continued to talk as if his mouth wasn't even covered. Dean raised an eyebrow as he listened to Sam's muffled words fade beneath his grip. He pulled his hand away. "What the 'F' did you just say?" He questioned.

"I said," Sam repeated with slurred speech, "Dean… help… someone's covering my mouth."

"Right," Dean shook his head. "Okay, so think you can stand?" Although his eyes remained shut, Sam moved his head as if he were looking around.

"No."

"Okay. Think you can hang onto me?" Dean asked. Sam lifted his hand and brought it down, fingers splayed full across Dean's face. He grabbed hold.

"Yes," Sam responded confidently. Then his hand slowly slid from Dean's face and dropped into his lap. "No," Sam amended.

"Forget it," Dean grumbled. He unbuckled his brother, and ineptly maneuvered him to the edge of the seat. Then, as he pulled Sam's long limbed, uncooperative body from the vehicle and slung him over his shoulder into a fireman's carry, Dean was revisited yet again by the not so soothing sound of rattling Skittles scattering the pavement. Sam finally opened his eyes.

"Noooo!" The drunkard yelled as he hung dangling over his brother's shoulder. "Dean! Get 'em!"

"What?" Dean questioned as he took an incredibly unstable step forward.

"Get 'em… get after 'em!"

"After what?"

"My Skittles!" Sam panicked. "They're gettin' away!" Sam stretched and struggled his arms towards the ground.

"Sam will you quit fighting me!" Dean scolded as he abruptly shifted under Sam's weight and almost hit the ground.

"But my Skit…tle…s…" Sam slowly trailed off.

"Leave 'em! God knows there's plenty left in my car!"

As Sam stilled in his grip, Dean tried to pick up his pace to the door. He hadn't gotten very far when he felt it.

"Sam," Dean said as he stopped short. "Why the hell did you just pinch my ass?"

"Cause there's Skittles stuck to it," Sam explained as he picked another candy from the fabric of Dean's jeans and ate it.

"Aw hell, Sam!" Dean jolted his brother up a little further onto his shoulder in an attempt to keep him from sliding off, and then began to move rapidly towards the door. When he finally reached it, Dean stopped and braced himself against the wall of the motel in hope it would prevent the inevitable event of his back giving out. "Sammy, could you touch my ass in a useful way and hand me the room key out of my back pocket?"

"This pocket?" Sam asked.

"No. The other one."

"This pocket?"

"No Sam… that's the _same_ pocket."

"Oh…"

"And could you maybe um… get a little_ heavier_ while you keep me waiting?"

"Huh? Here," Sam said and passed the key forward.

"Thanks," Dean replied as he keyed into the room.

"No problem, Dean-bo… it's always a pleasure to remove things from your ass."

"Sam!"

"What?" Sam questioned, baffled.

"Just… shut the fuck up." Dean stumbled awkwardly into the room, made sure the door swung shut, flicked on the light switch with his shoulder, and then made straight for the closest bed. "Okay big guy, time for--"

"Not the bed!" Sam shouted as Dean was mid-way through slinging him onto it.

"What do you mean 'not the bed'?" Dean questioned, slightly startled.

"Bathroom, man… baff-room…" Sam mumbled breathily.

"Oh… sure." Dean dragged Sam to the bathroom and dropped him down onto the cold tile floor. "There ya go, champ. Have a blast." Dean turned to leave but a long arm quickly reached up and grabbed hold of him.

"Wait… hold me up, man," Sam instructed. Dean stared at him hesitantly.

"Dude. Which… _part_ of you?"

"Me. All of me. Up. Over the toilet."

"You're kidding, right?" Sam rolled his head back and stared up at his brother. "No way, man. I'm not gonna hold you while you pee. I don't care how drunk you are. Look, just… why don't you kneel and pee."

"Huh?"

"Dude, you're tall from the knees up, you should be able to clear the toilet by at least an inch." Sam stared into space briefly.

"Kay," he responded, and then attempted to unbutton his pants. Dean stared as his brother failed to operate the simple button on his jeans. "What's wrong… with these?" Sam questioned, baffled, as Dean shook his head in exasperation.

"Hold still." Dean reached down, undid Sam's pants, and pulled the front open. "There. I'll be in the bedroom. Holler when you're done."

Dean walked out of the bathroom, pulled the door mostly closed behind him, walked to the closest bed, and flopped back onto it. He rubbed his eyes, and then simply stared at the ceiling.

_What the fuck did happen tonight? _He questioned again._ My car is trashed, my lap dance was a set up, and Sammy… _

Dean had thoroughly checked his brother for injuries after pulling him from the car. The fume inhalation had been his biggest concern, and although it felt like forever, Sam's exposure had actually been minimal. If any brain damage had occurred via the nights events it would be the result of the alcohol, not the accident.

"Holler!" Sam's voice shouted loud and scratchy from the bathroom. "Holler-er…er!" Dean scrubbed his face with his hand and pushed himself off the bed. He walked to the bathroom and stared down at his brother who was now lying flat on his back on the floor. Sam looked up at him. "I said 'holler', man."

"Yeah, I heard ya." Dean scrunched his eyes and glanced at the toilet. "Did you go?"

"Did I holler?"

"Is that a 'yes'?" Dean questioned. Sam nodded. "Well… dude… there was no flush, and the toilet--"

"Didn't go in the toilet."

"Uh… then where the hell--"

"Tub. It's shorter… bigger target… I wrote on the wall." Sam waved his hand out above him as if proclaiming the title of the next hot Broadway musical. "Dean! D… E… A… N… Dean!" He announced.

"Dude, you wrote my name in piss?"

"What can I say," Sam looked up and gave a sincere nod. "You owe me, man."

"Right," Dean responded as he broke down and laughed slightly. "Tell you what, I'll let you have first shower tomorrow, then we'll call it even." Dean reached down and began to drag his brother from the room.

"What a man," Sam responded as he was tugged across the ruff motel carpet. "You the bro." Dean smiled and rolled his eyes. This was becoming exhausting, but he had to admit, drunk Sam was just a tad amusing.

"Okay, first stop… sleepytown!" Dean announced as they reached the closest bed. He lifted his baby brother up onto the mattress, pulled off his shoes, and then, in a strategic decision not to try and get Sam under the covers he was currently on top of, Dean turned to grab a folded blanket off the end of the other bed. As he threw it open and placed it over his brother, he glanced up to find Sam staring at him. The kid's gaze was intense and layered with a myriad of inebriated emotions. Somehow in the brief time Dean had spent tucking him in, Sam had gone from playful drunk, to upset drunk.

Sam sat propped up on his elbows, eyes bloodshot, and breath raspy. Dean could clearly see Sam's internal breakdown rising to the surface. He wasn't usually into the whole share your feelings thing, but given his recent suspicion that Sam was hiding something from him, he sat on the edge of the bed, placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, and went with it.

"What is it, Sam?"

"I… I just…. tonight…" Sam struggled. "You… you just…"

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean said calmly. "Look, whatever it is--"

"What the fuck is your problem with Skittles?" Sam blurted heatedly.

"What?" Dean asked, dumbfounded.

"You heard me," Sam challenged.

"Yeah, I heard you," Dean removed his hand from Sam's shoulder. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I'm serious," Sam persisted. "I mean… you don't just _not_ like Skittles, Dean. You've gotta have some sorta _reason_."

"Sam." Dean sighed and got up from the bed. "Go to sleep."

"No! I wanna know!" Sam yelled irrationally, making it clear he had now moved to angry drunk.

"You wanna know my reason for not liking Skittles?"

"Yes!"

"Well right now I can think of a couple thousand reasons, and they're all sitting in my fucking car!"

"The _real_ reason, Dean!"

"Sam…"

"You just… what are they not good enough for you?"

"Sam, I'm tired," Dean pleaded.

"Or maybe… maybe you think you're better than them. Is that it, Dean? Do you think you're _better_ than Skittles? That you can just step all over them?"

"I _did_ step all over them," Dean argued.

"No, I get it! You decide they don't matter, so they just don't matter!" Sam glared at his brother with complete loathing. "Well I got news for you, Dean! You SUCK!"

"Okay, you seriously need to shut up and go to sleep," Dean ordered as he came upon the decision his brother was beyond drunk. He stepped forward and tried to force Sam to lie down. It was a bad move; Sam shoved him hard in the chest and continued to scream.

"Why did you make me go with you tonight?!" Sam wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Why, Dean?!"

Dean stood stock still as he stared at his brother, pretty much shocked by what seemed like a huge shift in subject. He knew Sam had been resistant about going to the strip club, but the anger behind what he was shouting completely caught Dean off guard. Whatever this was, it wasn't about tonight.

"Sam," Dean began cautiously. "Sammy I… I didn't _make_ you do anything."

"Yes you did, man! You know you did!" Sam continued feverishly.

"Sam--"

"Just forget it!" Sam rolled over onto his stomach, and like a pouting child, pulled his pillow over his head. "Fucking forget it!"

Dean remained quiet for a long time. He could still feel the anger coming off his brother, even in their silence. He considered what his brother had said. It could be taken as an isolated drunken rant, but Dean knew it was more, and that just as Sam had been about to get into it, he had instead rolled over and shut down. Dean wasn't about to shut down; he knew what he was feeling, and he was going to say it.

"Sam, I just thought… I _honestly_ thought we would have a good time tonight. That if you relaxed a little, part of you might actually _want_ to hang out. Ya know… together." Dean didn't wait for a response; he was fairly sure he'd already gotten it. He walked quietly to the bathroom, and closed himself inside.

Sam sulked beneath his pillow. He didn't have to peek out from under it to know Dean had abandoned him for the other room. His head was spinning and clouded with so many thoughts he just couldn't seem to grab hold. He wanted to believe what Dean had said, that his brother had actually wanted to spend time with him, but no matter how much Sam wanted to buy into it, he knew better.

_Dean doesn't give a shit about me, he just wanted to hook up with Ed, get a lap dance, and drink,_ Sam lamented. _I'm not good enough for him… I'm not. I'm no better than Skittles…_

Sam closed his eyes tight and pressed his face hard into the mattress. If he pressed hard enough, the pain would go away… and it did.

Sam felt a hand lightly shake his shoulder. He didn't want to move, he didn't want to respond, but as he slowly came to, he realized he was asleep, and whatever was shaking him was messing up that calm that tends to accompany unconsciousness.

"Stop," he grumbled. It stopped, but it was too late; Sam's inebriated head was already filling with thought and dizziness. Where was he? How did he get here? Was he still in the club? The shaking began again.

"Sam." He heard his name softly. If this was Dean telling him it was time to wake up and go back to the motel, he was more than ready to sleep on the table. "Sam." His name came again. Sam popped up, knocked the pillow from his head, and opened his eyes. He looked around, realized he was already at the motel, and already in bed.

"Oh, good," Sam mumbled, and then remembered some of the night's events. "And… shit." He slumped down onto his pillow.

"Sam!" His name came again, still quiet, but abrupt and nagging. Sam rolled over and opened his eyes again.

"What? Oh," Sam said as he realized it was Ed who had been waking him the entire time. "Hey Ed."

"Hey kid," Ed responded with a friendly, Sam Winchester smile. Sam smiled back, and then rolled over to return to sleep. "Sam!" Ed shook him again. "Sam, wake up, damn it. I need to talk to you."

"Huh?" Sam sat back up and rubbed his eyes. "Um, okay… talk."

"Not here," Ed said motioning with a head jerk towards Dean's bed. "Outside."

"But Ed," Sam whined.

"Come on, get up, and be quiet."

"Fine," Sam groaned and began to get out of bed.

Satisfied he had gotten through, Ed headed for the door. About three steps there he stopped cold at the incredibly loud sound of Sam falling out of bed.

"I'm fine," Sam informed. "Totally good here." Ed rolled his eyes and continued outside. He held the door open and watched as Sam pretty much crawled onto the porch. Ed pulled the door shut quietly, and stepping out of Sam's way, went to stand by the window. He waited and watched as Sam struggled to stand.

"Don't get up," Ed finally instructed. "Just… work on sitting."

"Cool." Sam said as he rolled himself over to sit Indian style on the cold wooden slats of the porch. "You're the boss." Ed looked down at him and smiled, again, slightly amused by him. "So what's up?" Sam asked.

"New plan," Ed explained, dropping his smile. "Here." He reached down and handed Sam a small newspaper clipping. Sam stared at it, confused.

"What is this?" He asked.

"It's a lead."

"For a job?"

"Yeah," Ed confirmed.

"What about _your_ job?" Sam asked with concern.

"Don't worry, this'll take care of it," Ed assured him. "I just need you to bring that to Dean, convince him you should check it out. Can you handle that?"

"Sure, Ed. No problem," Sam promised in his groggy state.

"Okay. Thanks, kid." Ed forced a smile, slid his hands into his pockets, and then gazed at Sam as if he wanted to say something else. Sam looked up into his eyes and they stared at one another through a long silence. Finally, it was broken when Sam grabbed his forehead and winced uncomfortably, in reaction to a sudden shooting headache. Ed dropped to his knees and shifted Sam to lean with his back against the door.

"Hey… you okay?" Ed asked as he tilted Sam's head back and checked out his eyes.

"Yeah… I guess." Sam shook it off, and as the pain passed, came to notice Ed's concern. Feeling slightly caught, Ed stood and backed away. He returned his hands to his pockets and stared off into the parking lot.

"Ed," Sam ventured quietly. "What happened to you tonight? I mean, after we crashed, where'd you go?" Ed turned to look at him.

"I uh…" Ed staggered into his response. "Dean showed up. I couldn't stick around." Sam nodded lightly. There was another silence between them; this time Ed broke it.

"Sam, I'm sorry," he said, his voice heavy.

"Why?" Sam questioned. "I mean, I get it, if Dean had seen you--"

"No, Sam. I mean about _everything_: misjudging your drinking, crashing the car… letting you down." Ed took a deep breath and made eye contact again. It was a strange sensation, but Sam could feel Ed's regret in how the night had turned out, could feel it as if it were his own.

"It's okay, Ed," Sam said, needing to comfort him.

"No Sam, it's not," Ed stated firmly. "You could have gotten hurt."

"But," Sam questioned slightly baffled, "I thought that was the point?"

"The point," Ed cut in sternly, "is to _help_ you. Sam… I've lost focus here. Certain _factors_ have sort of snuck up on me and well… they're knocking me off my game."

"What do you mean? What 'factors'?"

"I can't… this shouldn't have happened, what went down tonight. I let myself…" Ed trailed off his thought.

"Let yourself what? Ed, what?"

Ed thought about what had gone wrong tonight and why. He laughed to himself and shook his head.

"You and those damn Skittles, kid."

"Are you pissed at me?" Sam asked, nervously.

"No, Sam," Ed assured him in a comforting tone. "No. Far from it."

"Well, what then?" He asked innocently.

"I just--" Ed cut his response short as he heard a sound from inside the room. "What was that?" He stepped to the window, pressed his face to the glass, and as he tried to peer through the crack in the curtains, they abruptly pulled aside.

Ed suddenly found himself face to face with Dean. "Fuck!" He gasped, and stumbled backward.

"Sam!" Dean yelled through the glass and within seconds moved to the door and pulled it open. Sam, who had been leaning against it, fell directly back, his head landing hard onto the wooden floor between Dean's feet. Dean looked down at his brother completely baffled by his location. "Sam? How the hell did you…?" Dean did a double take, positive his brother didn't have enough time to move locations that quickly. He looked up and scanned the area; there was no one else in sight. Dean rubbed his eyes. "I'm losing my fucking mind." He glanced back down at his brother. "Sammy, what are you doing out here?"

"What are _you_ doing out here?" Sam questioned back.

"Dude, I followed you out here."

"Dude," Sam whispered in response, "I followed me out here_ too_."

"I hate this night." Dean reached down, grabbed his brother and pulled him back into the room. "Come on."

"Where we goin'?"

"Shut up."

Sam's feet dragged into the room and the door slammed shut, leaving the small scrap of a newspaper clipping mangled on the porch. It remained abandoned for a moment, and then a hand reached down and picked it up. Ed stood, clutching the article in his fist. He glanced to the spot where Sam had been sitting and shook his head.

"Every time I let my guard down." Ed exhaled slowly and shoved the scrap of paper into his pocket. "This is really messing with my head. Damn that kid."

* * *

Dean drove the Impala down the small town road as he side glanced at his brother with slight exasperation. 

"Y'know, I _could_ pull over," he suggested.

"It's okay," Sam managed. "I've got it covered." Dean cringed as Sam yet again grabbed the dashboard, dropped his head between his legs, and vomited through the hole in the floor of the Impala.

"Dude, that's nasty. Not to mention," Dean glanced in the rearview, "you're leaving a trail. Better hope no one's following us."

"Very funny," Sam said as he sat up and wiped the remaining splotch of puke from his chin.

"Actually, it's not funny. We still don't know what the deal was last night. Which means it may not be over, someone could be following us."

"Dean, nobody 's following us."

"Look, whether you wanna believe me or not, last night was a set up," Dean insisted. "Lori went through a lot of trouble to get to you Sam, and it's gonna piss the shit out of me until I know why."

"Yeah, well I'd brace myself for a long shit pissing, cause she's gone, without a trace, and you have _no way_ of tracking her down. Hell, you never even got her last name." Sam cut the words at his brother sharply; he needed this topic put to rest. Dean turned, gritted his teeth, and released an irate grunt. Sam was right, and he knew it.

"It just doesn't make sense," Dean grumbled, unwilling to let it drop. Sam sighed, and pressed a hand to his queasy stomach.

"Can't you just consider the possibility that she was a slightly psycho girl who used you to hit on me?"

"No," he stated firmly.

"Fuck," Sam laughed as he shook off his anger. "You know girls do like me."

"Fake strippers don't count Sammy, and that's not what I meant. This girl… there was something about her."

"They're called breasts, Dean."

"No. She was perfect." Dean hesitated, he felt almost crazy, but said it anyway. "Perfect… _for me_."

"What?!" Sam exclaimed a little too loud for his throbbing, hung over head. "Are you kidding me?" He continued more softly. Dean glanced at him and went on.

"I don't know Sammy, if she needed to bait me to get to you, she couldn't have done a better job. She was exactly my type: the exact look I go for, coped just the right attitude, lied about having the right profession..."

"Dean…"

"I'm serious. She couldn't have been any better if I had created her myself."

There was a moment of silence and Sam tensed as a raw chill slid down the back of his neck. He had been doing everything he could to avert Dean's concerns from the whole Lori incident, but to this, he had no answer.

"I don't know, man," Sam managed to look at him somewhat innocently. "I don't know what to tell you."

"Alright." Dean sighed and gave in. "Forget it. I'm crazy." As a large sign came into view down the road, Dean removed his foot from the gas pedal. The sign simply read 'Coffee Hut'.

"Think you can eat?" He questioned.

"Ah-eer… no." Sam cringed.

"Well, think you can stop puking long enough for me to eat?"

"Sure," Sam said, letting himself laugh slightly.

Dean pulled the Impala into the small lot of the freestanding 'Coffee Hut'. As he put her in park, Sam gazed vacantly out the window at the small wooden picnic table that had been set on the lawn for non-drive-through customers.

When Sam had woken up that morning, he couldn't remember much. His head hurt, his mouth was dry, and nothing seemed to function properly until the hot water and steam of the shower had washed over his body. As he'd braced himself against the contrasting cold tile wall, bits and pieces of the previous night had slowly assembled themselves in his head. He remembered emotions, he remembered actions, and he remembered his commitment to Ed.

"Sammy." Dean's voice suddenly revealed itself along with his head just outside the passenger side window; Sam snapped out of his thoughts. "Coming?" Dean asked. Sam nodded and pushed himself from the car. As Dean took off at a slightly faster pace, Sam dug his hands into the pockets of his jeans in search of the small scrap of a newspaper clipping Ed had given him. By the time they entered the coffee hut Sam had managed to hit every pocket twice with no luck.

_Shit,_ he thought. _Where the fuck is it?_

It was that moment when the normally pleasant smell of eggs and cheese hit his nose. Sam buckled forward queasily, and then placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. Dean finished reading the 'morning special' sign as he turned to see what was up.

"I'll uh… be in the--" Sam yanked a thumb in the direction of the bathroom as he kept his other hand on his stomach.

"Got it. You want anything?" Dean asked.

"Um… coffee. Black."

"'Kay. I'll meet you at the picnic table. You have fun with that," he added, nodding towards the bathroom with a smirk. Sam groaned in response and stumbled away.

Dean ordered a double egg and cheese, and two coffees. He leaned on the counter for a couple of minutes numbly watching the eggs fry on the griddle, then yawned loudly and walked over to the newspaper rack. He skimmed the area, and found pretty much nothing but the rack itself.

"Hey, got any papers left?" Dean turned and asked the kid behind the counter.

"Nah, last one walked outta here about fifteen minutes ago," the kid responded as he flipped the eggs onto a toasted hard roll. "How do you want those coffees?"

"One black, one with cream and sugar." Dean strolled back over as the kid shoved the foil wrapped sandwich into a paper bag and flung it up onto the counter.

"To be truthful," the kid said nodding towards the paper rack, "we don't get that many copies to begin with."

"Small town?" Dean inquired.

"Small town," the kid confirmed. "That'll be four fifty," he continued as he placed the coffees down in front of Dean. Dean paid, dropped the change in the tip jar, and then grabbed the food and a coffee in each hand.

"Have a good one," the kid called as Dean backed himself out the front door.

"Yeah, you too," Dean responded, and completed his maneuver of exiting the hut with coffee cup hands.

Dean watched the door slam shut behind him, then turned towards the picnic table and stopped cold; there was Sam, sitting at the table, already waiting for him.

"What the fuck?" Dean glanced back at the door, then back at the table, confused as hell. He shook his head and walked over. "Dude, how the hell did you get out here?"

"Huh?" Sam inquired.

"Well, first of all, I never saw you come out of the bathroom, and second, it might have been nice if you'd grabbed your own coffee."

"Oh, right," Sam said. "I uh… just walked out, I didn't even realize you were still in there."

"Not even when I wasn't out here?" Dean pointed out as he unwrapped his sandwich. Sam just stared at him.

"Guess I'm a little out of it."

"Yeah, guess you are," Dean accepted, and took a large bite of egg and cheese.

"So ah… this is mine?" Sam asked pointing at the cup in front of him.

"No, it's for the _other_ Sam," Dean quipped sarcastically. Sam smiled and laughed slightly.

"Right, well… hopefully he won't mind if I have a sip." Sam reached out and took the coffee.

"Whatever, dude." Dean shook his head and continued to eat.

Sam tilted the cup to his lips, then hastily pulled it away, his face truly disgusted.

"Gross," Sam complained.

"What? Can't stomach it?"

"Not like this." Sam moved his eye to the opening of the cup and stared inside. "What is there, no cream_ or_ sugar in here?" Sam griped as if it were a high offence. Dean stared at him, mouth full of eggs, completely dumbfounded.

"Yeah man, it's black," he mumbled though the eggs. "It's what you asked for."

"Oh," Sam realized, then sighed loudly. "Right. Got it." Sam took another sip and made the same pained face. He rolled his eyes, then put the coffee down and gagged slightly. Dean decided to ignore him and returned to his sandwich.

"So," Sam began as he slid a small newspaper clipping across the table, "I found a lead." Dean looked at him, a bit surprised. "On a case," Sam elaborated.

"Yeah, I got ya," Dean confirmed his understanding as he glanced down at the strip of paper. "When the hell did you come up with this?"

"The bathroom. A copy of today's paper was lying on the floor. I figured I might as well read while I was hunched over the toilet."

"Nice multitasking." Dean picked up the paper and began to scan it. "Sam, what the hell. Like, every other word is missing from this."

"So it's a little mangled, what'd you expect, it was on the floor. It's still a lead." Sam began to take another sip of his coffee, but flinched as the bitter black smell hit him. He put it back down and stared at Dean, waiting to see if he would take the bait. Dean crumbled up the now empty foil of his sandwich, and dropped the newspaper clipping back onto the table.

"Yeah, okay, maybe we'll check it out," Dean said as he picked up his coffee. Sam nodded, grabbed his own coffee, and stood up.

"I'm goin' for cream and sugar." Sam began to turn.

"So who's Ed?" Dean shot the question from out from nowhere, almost as if he'd wanted to catch Sam off guard. Sam froze, and turned back slowly.

"What?" He questioned calmly.

"Ed? Who is he?" Dean repeated, putting the question to him like some sort of challenge. Dean waited as Sam smiled and looked into his eyes. Sam was unbelievably composed, not caught off guard at all, and Dean found it so unnerving that he broke and quickly looked away. "You were talking about him last night," Dean blurted.

Sam's eyes darkened, but his body language remained unmoved.

"What'd I say?"

"Just his name," Dean admitted. "When you were unconscious you um… you were sort of _calling_ for him," Dean finished uncomfortably.

Sam raised an eyebrow as an unexpected wave of emotion suddenly broke his calm stance.

"I did?" He asked, seeming almost touched. "I called for him?"

"Yeah," Dean confirmed, as his feelings of jealously knocked for another visit. "You did."

Sam revealed a small smile, then caught himself and pushed whatever he was feeling away. A new wave of emotions stepped in, and Sam tensed as the strange confidence he had been wielding disbursed.

"Ed is…" He hesitated, and then decided to tell the truth. "Ed is just a guy who messed up."

Dean tried not to react; the answer was beyond unsettling, it wasn't even an answer, yet instead of chalking it up as another one of Sam's avoidance tactics, Dean couldn't help but linger on the dark and oppressing feeling it had left him with. The sadness and remorse in Sam's voice had carried so much weight, Dean could barely remember the statement they were communicated through. He again looked into his brother's eyes. He couldn't explain it, but even though Sam's response had been unquestionably sincere, it was also as if it weren't quite coming from him.

Dean spaced for a moment as he tried to piece together what it was he was sensing, but before he could come to any sort of conclusion, Sam turned and walked away.

Dean sighed wearily and dropped his head into his hands. He leaned forward, pressed his elbows to the table, and just sat there, face hidden, deep in thought. He had no idea what to make of that exchange other than it was eerie as hell, and Sam had successfully managed to avoid being straight with him yet again. Head still in hands, Dean felt Sam stumble back into the other side of the table.

"That was fast," he said as he dropped his hands from his face and looked up. Sam was sitting on the opposite bench in the exact same position Dean had been in: head in hands, elbows to the table. Dean still felt off from their most recent exchange, but from the look of his brother, Sam was the one much more worse for wear. Dean's big brother protectiveness kicked in without hesitation.

"Sammy, you alright?" He asked. Sam looked up. He was groggy, pale, and a little confused by Dean's question.

"I'm done vomiting if that's what you mean?" He responded.

"Yeah," Dean found himself lying, "I guess that's what I mean." Sam hesitated; catching that his brother had meant something else, he almost wanted to change his answer, test if Dean had actually been concerned about him, but then something on the table caught his eye.

Sam picked up the small newspaper article from the table. He recognized it immediately as the one Ed had given him, the one he had lost, and was baffled as to how it could have magically arrived on the table.

"Where did this come from?" Sam asked in confusion. Dean returned to his concerned look.

"You, Sammy. You handed it to me like five minutes ago."

"I did?" Sam questioned.

"Yeah, right after you bitched about your coffee," Dean added. Sam stared at the paper, then looked up and glanced at the surrounding area suspiciously. Dean raised an eyebrow, and following Sam's lead, glanced around the area as well.

"Sam, what are you looking for?" Sam completely ignored Dean's question and continued with his investigation.

"So," Sam began, "I was here five minutes ago, and I handed this to you."

"What did I just say?"

"And just before that, I complained about my coffee?" Sam asked scanning the table for his coffee.

"Sam, you're just repeating what I told you."

"Where _is_ my coffee?" Sam interrogated. "You did get me a coffee, right?"

"I…" Dean checked the table; Sam's coffee was gone. "Yeah I got you a coffee!" Dean exclaimed growing a little short with the accusation.

"Then where is it?" Sam inquired.

"It-- you took it with you!"

"That's right! I took it with me." Sam played along, confident he now understood what had happened. "I took it with me…" Sam looked to Dean for the end of his sentence.

"To get cream and sugar," Dean finished.

"Exactly! That's exactly correct. Nice work."

"Nice what? Sam, what the hell are you on?"

"Well, not coffee," Sam commented as he returned his gaze to the newspaper clipping Ed had so strategically dropped off for him.

"Sam," Dean said impatiently, "Sam, look at me!" Sam looked up with slight surprise.

"What?" He asked calmly. Dean's eyes popped wide and he threw his hands into the air with exasperation.

"You know, Sam, I thought I pulled you from the carbon monoxide fast enough, but seriously, maybe we should take you to the hospital, get you checked out."

"I'm fine," Sam said without missing a beat. "I remember now."

"You remember," Dean said in disbelief.

"Yeah, I remember." Sam went back to reading the clipping.

"Then where's your coffee?" Dean threw at him.

"My guess is, it's back in the hut."

"Do you wanna maybe go get it?"

"Nah, don't worry about it, I've probably finished it by now."

"Of course you have," Dean agreed blankly. "Seriously, at this point I don't know if it's him or me," he mumbled to himself.

"You say something?" Sam asked without looking up.

"Why not."

"Holy crap! This is horrible." Sam winced. "Dean, have you read this?"

"Have you?" Dean asked, obviously agitated. Sam looked up and stared at Dean waiting for a real answer. Eventually, Dean gave him one. "I skimmed it; at least, what wasn't missing from it."

"Yeah, it's sort of mangled, some ink is rubbed off and there's lots of holes."

"I'd say grab another paper," Dean began as Sam tensed at the suggestion, "but whatever you found on the bathroom floor was apparently their last copy."

"Oh… bathroom floor… right!" Sam repeated, further piecing Ed's scam together. Dean shook his head and decided to just let his brother act wacky.

"Okay," Dean sighed, "read me what we have."

Sam rubbed his head slightly, squinted, and read what he could make out.

"Bizarre B and… _something_… Deaths," he began with the headline. "Mrs. Hilda Truelace, owner of 'The Perfectly Pink Bed and Breakfast' of Woodstock NY, was devastated yesterday when she discovered the body of Chloe, her--" Sam shook his head, "--age two, inside the engine of her car. Truelace was the proud mother of four… _I can't make this out…_ few short months ago, and then tragedy struck when her babies began to mysteriously disappear only to be found days later dead on the property of the B&B." Sam paused and glanced up at Dean, then went on.

"Truelace first discovered the body of her beloved Bobby, named for… _there's a large hole here_… in the dryer. Only three weeks later in a similar incident, Shelby, age 6… _another hole," _Sam commented "…was found dead inside an upright freezer unit after she had been missing for three days. Police have refused to investigate the case further, and Truelace is rightfully concerned for the safety of her remaining--" Sam looked up. "That's where it ends."

Sam waited nervously to get Dean's thoughts. He'd promised Ed he would get his brother on this job, and had told Ed it would be 'no problem'. Sam hoped he was right. It was an odd sounding case, with a pattern, and it wasn't exactly a stretch for them to check something like this out, but that didn't mean Dean would go for it.

"I don't know, Sam," Dean finally chimed in, "something about it feels off. Besides, there's a lot missing from that article."

"So what?" Sam argued. "We've gone on less, and you've gotta admit, the police refusing to investigate the death of three children? That's a little weird."

"Well, I'll give you that," Dean half-heartedly agreed. "But…"

"Dean," Sam persisted. "I _really_ think we should check this out." Dean's eyes narrowed; what was up with his brother's sudden insistence on pursuing this case?

"I don't get it, Sammy. Why is this lead so important to you?"

"It's not," Sam said defensively. "I just think it can't hurt to check it out."

"Fair enough," Dean placated as he took in just how pale his brother looked. "Sammy listen, you look like Hell washed over you." Sam rolled his eyes and looked away. "I was thinking we could take a couple of days to recover from last night: get some rest, fix the car."

"You want the car fixed?" Sam questioned, persistent to make this work. "There's gotta be a garage in Woodstock."

Sam stood up, but before he could make another voluntary move, he swayed like a big-headed baby and fell straight back. Dean panicked across the table and grabbed him fast by the center of his shirt. He gave a harsh yank and, before any damage could come of it, Sam tumbled forward before falling back down onto the bench.

"Woah!" Dean held his brother by the shoulders. "You okay?" Sam steadied his head in his hand as he tried to re-group. "What was that?" Dean asked.

"Head rush," Sam muttered.

"I figured as much, I kind of meant where were you running off to?"

"My phone, it's in the car," Sam explained. "Was gonna call for a garage."

"Forget that, will ya?"

"No," Sam insisted groggily, "I- I wanna call." Dean sighed and decided to humor him; he reached into his pocket and placed his cell down in front of Sam.

"You can use mine," he said as he sat back down. Sam dropped his hand from his face. His eyes were hardly open, and he was clearly still dizzy, still out of it. As he reached for the phone, Dean's hand quickly came down on top of it. "Hey, give yourself a minute," he requested. Sam looked up, made brief eye contact, and then nodded as he pulled away.

Sam sat quietly staring at the phone; Dean sat quietly staring at him. Sam was obviously wrecked: hung over, exhausted, and emotionally… Dean just couldn't put a finger on it. There were points when Sam seemed fine; yet, something had been off since the night he'd been shot, and although Dean had tried to let it go, he just couldn't shake the feeling that his kid brother was in some sort of trouble. Whatever the hell it was, Dean wished Sam would just talk to him about it. Problem was, as Dean damn well knew, wishes didn't just come true; you had to make them come true.

"Sorry about the car," Sam offered suddenly; he glanced up.

"Yeah, I know you are," Dean replied.

"I'll fix it."

"I know. Don't worry about that right now," Dean said. He gave it a moment, then decided to take a shot and see if he could get his brother to talk. "Sammy? About the car… when you took it last night, where were you going? I mean, I know you didn't want to be at the club, but still, you just--" Dean stopped short, not really sure what he was trying to elaborate on.

Sam turned his gaze back down to the table. It was a simple question, with a simple answer, but it wasn't an answer he was ready to give. He may not have been the one to wreck the car, but he had been the one to take it with the intent of running away from his problems, with the intent of running away from Dean.

Much like the concept of trying to explain he had manifested an energy demon out of pure brotherly anger, Sam questioned how he could possibly explain that the reason he had driven the Impala drunk was simply because he was too afraid to talk to his older brother.

"Coffee." Sam quickly came up with.

"What?" Dean questioned, slightly thrown.

"I was going for coffee."

"Coffee," Dean repeated in amazement.

"I was really drunk, and I wanted to sober up," Sam continued to explain his lie. "So I took the Impala to get a cup of… _coffee," _Sam finished lamely

"Wait. Let me get this straight," Dean began to clarify. "You were so smashed that you decided to drive my car, the Impala, to get a cup of coffee, so that you would be sober enough… _to drive?_"

"Well when you say it like that…"

"It's totally fucking stupid, Sam!"

"I'm sorry, Dean! I was drunk, and I wasn't thinking straight, hence drunk driving!" Sam argued, his temper flaring.

"I get it, but do you have any idea what could have come from that? You could have seriously--"

"Fucked up your car?" Sam cut in. "I said I was sorry! Now can you just drop it?" Sam stood, pushed through his recurring head rush, and stormed off as Dean stared in disbelief. He wasn't sure what had just happened, how he had managed to piss Sam off so quickly, but as usual, he had managed it.

_My car,_ Dean thought to himself. _Yeah, I was worried about my fucking car; not at all about its contents. _ Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The last thing he had wanted right now was Sam pissed at him again. If he was going to figure out what the hell was going on with his brother, he was going to have to convince Sam they were on the same side.

Dean reached out and picked up the news article from the table. He glanced at it, then turned to look at Sam who was now sitting on the ground with his back against the front tire of the car, head on his knees. Dean couldn't understand why this lead was so important to his little brother, but he knew one thing: he wouldn't find out by not following it. Dean picked up his phone and dialed information.

"Woodstock, New York, The--" Dean cringed. "--Perfectly Pink Bed and Breakfast." He waited for the call to connect. It took a minute, but eventually someone answered.

"Hi," he responded, "I'd like to book a room for tonight. Um… sure, the… _Pretty in Pink_ room sounds… huh? No. No I wasn't going to say…" Dean sighed and gave in. "Fine. The _Pretty in Pink_ room sounds… _Ducky_. Yeah, it's hilarious."

* * *

Thats all for now. Thanks for reading – I hope it was worth the wait! Would really love to hear from you guys – mostly just to know you're still out there D 

Later!

Kate


	9. Chapter 9

**The Sam/Dean/Ed combo-pack is back!**

I know it's been a stupid long time since I've posted, and I apologize for that, but I hope 4 weeks in a row of new chapters will make up for it just a little.

Check out my profile for a full update on postings and story progress.

To those of you who are returning to EIC after its incredibly long drought -

THANK YOU!

BIG thanks to my beta Kaewi for your dedication to this story and all the work you put into these four chapters.

This chapter just gets things started - but I promise the shit will start to hit the fan next week in ch 10.

**Here's my super short recap:**

**Ch 5:** Sam mopes. Dean orders a Swiss burger with fries.

**Ch 6**: Dean drags Sam to a strip club; Sam gets drunk and takes off.

**Ch 7:** Ed, Sam, and 2800 Skittles hit the dash as Ed crashes the Impala.

**Ch 8:** Sam eats candy off Dean's ass. Dean gives in and books a B&B when Sam is oddly

insistent on following a lead from a tattered news clipping.

And now...

* * *

**Energies and Ice Cream**

**CH 9**

Thick woods swished past in a twilight lit blur with only an occasional house to be seen, set back and hidden in the trees. Dean sighed and shifted his legs from position one, stretched across the floor, back into position two, bent up on the dashboard. He was handling roughly twenty minutes in each, the back and forth circulated in an attempt to alleviate both cramps and boredom. Although his stint in the passenger seat had lasted over five hours, the success rate of his leg rotations had diminished faster than the flavor in a stale stick of gum. In order to keep himself sane for the more recent hour and a half, he had relinquished himself to the only pastime he could find.

"Eighty-seven… eighty-seven… eighty-seven… _eighty-eight_," Dean finally counted to the next consecutive number with slight enthusiasm.

Sam turned and glanced at his brother. Dean sat completely slumped, arms strewn lax over his knees, head lolled and hanging practically out the window. Sam rolled his eyes as the counting inevitably began again.

"Eighty-eight… eight-eight… eighty-eight… eighty-eight," pause to yawn, "eighty-eight."

"Dean!" Sam interjected shortly. Dean rolled his head to face his brother. "Could… could you maybe count _silently_?" Sam requested. Dean briefly took this into consideration.

"Eighty-eight… eighty-eight…" he continued as he turned back to the window. Sam sighed in exasperation.

"I realize you're bored, but seriously, can't you find something better to do than count missing cat signs on the side of the road?"

"Not my fault there's so many missing cats, Sammy."

"There aren't! You're counting the same signs over."

"Not my fault you've been lost and driving us in circles for forty minutes, Sammy."

"For the hundredth time, I'm sorry! But for Christ's sake, you-"

"Eighty-nine!!!" Dean cut him off excitedly. "That's a big one Sammy! When I hit ninety, I'm making you pull over so I can take a leak… and I_really_ have to take a leak." Sam narrowed his eyes in bafflement.

"Then I'll pull over now." Sam turned the wheel towards the shoulder.

"No!" Dean shouted. "Not until I hit ninety," Dean stated with conviction. Sam's jaw hung open.

"Fine, wet yourself for all I care," Sam snipped and pulled the car back on the road. "You know you could help by maybe reading the-"

"NINETY! Pull over! Pull over!"

"What the-" Sam threw his hands into the air as Dean grabbed the wheel and swerved them to the dirt shoulder. The car bumped along and came to a halt inches away from the poll that so prominently posted missing cat sign number ninety.

Dean darted from the car and made it roughly two feet before his cramped, numb legs knocked out from under him and sent him flailing onto his face.

"Crap! God damn it!" He swore as he pushed himself back up and hobbled into the woods. Sam smiled broadly at his brother's misfortune, then leaned into the back seat and grabbed the map from the floor. His smile faded as his eyes caught sight of the shattered glass that coated the back of the vehicle.

It had been two days, or rather two nights, since the accident. After they'd decided to leave for Woodstock, Sam had attempted to stomach the ride, but the consistent movement had made it impossible. He insisted Dean keep driving, but Dean insisted that listening to his little brother dry heave for the bulk of the ride was wearing on his own stomach. That said, Dean had found a motel, and rebooked the bed and breakfast for the following night. This had given Sam time to recover, but not so much time for him to clean or fix the car. He had brushed most of the Skittles out the hole in the floor, and wiped up the remaining vomit, but that had been it. For the second day in a row they had gotten a late start, so the broken headlight and back window had been put on hold until Woodstock.

Woodstock. What Ed had in store for them there, Sam had no idea, but the wait was killing him. Although it was true that Ed had not exactly used the most passive methods in his attempts to fulfill Sam's wish, Sam had to admit he had taken some secret pleasure in what all of this was doing to Dean. So what if it hadn't been successful, if Dean hadn't regretted pushing Sam around and dragging him off to do things against his will? Dean was rattled, and Sam could see it. It might not have been the reaction he was hoping for, but Ed had Dean against the ropes searching for answers, and unless Dean was about to make the wild guess that his little brother had gotten mixed up with an energy demon, they weren't answers he was going to find.

Sam shook the map out across his lap and stared at it for about two seconds before a stray Skittle popped from the dashboard, landed on the map, and rolled down the center crease. He picked it up, and then scanned both in and outside the car, wondering if this was some sort of sign that Ed was around, or if it was simply a Skittle. Seeing nothing, he slumped back in disappointment, clutched the lone Skittle in his hand, and drifted into his head. _One… big… bag_, Sam reminisced, o_ne big bag._

"It helps if you actually _look_ at the map," Dean's voice came out of nowhere preceded only by the warning sound of the opening driver's side door. Sam jolted up startled, thrown by his brother's location.

"What are you doing?" He snipped.

"Out of the car Magellan, you just lost your navigating rights."

"Magellan?"

"The Portuguese explorer," Dean elaborated flatly.

"I know who Magellan is," Sam returned with attitude.

"Great, then don't waste my time asking. Out!" Dean repeated with a yank of his thumb. Sam restrained his desire to argue, and instead shoved the map into his brother's chest as he exited the car.

Fifteen minutes later they were driving through the little town of Woodstock. It was one short stretch of shops, and seemed to be inhabited by a bizarre mix of tourist hippie meets local hippie. Any way you drew it, the bulk of the people looked… weird. Dean, however, took no notice, as he was too busy attempting to count the continuing plethora of missing cat posters.

"Hundred ten… hundred eleven… Jesus! It's like… this is where missing cat signs go to die."

"Okay," Sam explained, looking at the map. "You're gonna need to go through town, and then about a quarter of a mile out, turn right onto Old Mill Road, which I guess isn't even a road, just sort of the entrance to the place." He looked up. "Are you listening?"

"Right on Old Dirt road, got it,"

"Mill… Old Mill… there," Sam said pointing to a very distant sign. Dean squinted.

"How do you see that?" Dean complained.

"How do you _not_?"

"It's like, stupid far away."

"You'd see it if it had a cat on it."

"Yeah," Dean admitted with a proud smirk.

Within thirty seconds they reached the sign, and just as Sam had said, it read 'Old Mill Road'. It wasn't a regulation street sign; it was just a slab of wood with faded paint, nailed to a tree. Below, there was a similar made sign staked into the ground, which was covered in a veil of dark dusk lighting. Dean stopped the Impala midway through the turn and flipped the headlights on; as the beams illuminated it, he shook his head in disbelief. In bright frilly font, surrounded by stenciled floral designs, the sign read '_The Perfectly Pink B&B_ - Yo_u're gonna love it, Come and see!_'

"I'm gonna hate this," Dean grumbled, and with that he stepped on the gas and embarked the Impala down the one-car width dirt road.

Sam side glanced at his older brother. Dean was silent, but Sam could feel what he was thinking; he could see his brother's disgruntled opinion radiating off him like heat, and it shifted his own mood in a matter of moments. Sam took a deep breath and tried to focus his thoughts; unfortunately, Dean had him so on edge, all he could do was internally panic.

_Fuck,_Sam thought,_ I don't know why he agreed, but he's regretting it, he's gonna start bitching about this case, and you have no answers as to why the hell you're here. Shit Ed, why the hell are we here?_ Sam stared at the thick passing trees that surrounded the road, and 'talked' to Ed. _Damn it, Ed. I need you man, I need to know what you have planned. I trust you but… _

"Hey, you okay?" Dean's voice came out of nowhere. Sam turned, startled.

"What? Yeah," Sam responded defensively. "I'm fine. Why?"

"Nothing, you just…" Dean looked him over; he could sense a sudden nervousness in his younger brother, an anxiety that hadn't been there a minute ago. "Nothing," Dean said finally, "forget it."

Dean put his eyes to the road; it was bumpy at unexpected points and his beloved Impala had already suffered enough for one week. He slowed her down and kept a firm grip on the wheel as he flipped the high beams to on. Increased lighting flooded their path and visibility immediately doubled in length. Dean leaned forward; it had a creepy look to it, the dark trees lining either side and covering overhead like a tunnel. Both men wondered to themselves whether this was really such a great idea; both remained silent.

It seemed endless, as if the trees would run on for the remainder of the night; instead, the path hooked sharply, the trees thinned out, and the dirt road widened into a dirt lot. Dean offed the headlights, and brought the vehicle to a soft, but abrupt, halt.

It was beautiful: warm, scenic and most of all welcoming in a way neither man had ever known. The rapidly fading sunset presented the picturesque farmhouse as a charming silhouette set against the delicately swirled pinks, purples, and blues of a seemingly infinite skyline. Like wooden cut outs from a child's play set, a small barn with dual silos, a deep red tractor, a pick up truck filled with hay, and a cow, stood in the distance on a vast farmland backdrop. Far beyond the barn, in the most distant point that could be seen, rolling mountains brushed against the lower, dark purple sky, illusively blurring the division between earth and air.

A light summer breeze swept through the open windows of the Impala, rustled the hair of both its occupants, and delivered a calm that punctuated the overall dreamlike experience.

"Wow," Sam gasped quietly.

"Yeah," Dean agreed in a trance-like tone. He lightly lifted his foot from the break, and without taking his eyes off the scene, let the Impala roll into a spot just in front of the house. He cut the ignition, and in unison, both brothers leaned forward and gazed up, open mouthed, at the unfamiliar setting before them.

It was indeed, as one would imagine the Perfectly Pink Bed and Breakfast to be, pink, but it was not the hideous girly pink that Dean had imagined; it was a deep, rich salmon with dark blue trim flanking all of the windows and the edge of the roof. The front door was painted to match, and had been left slightly open, allowing a wedge of inviting light to seep through the screen door, and cut across the floor mat that lay dutifully on the porch. It was a small porch with an overhang and railings lining its sides. Potted plants sat, well watered and flowering, on either side of the steps that lead down to a rustic stone path.

Every window of the farmhouse contained a warm glowing candle, which illuminated its interior in a way that stated simply, this was a home.

"Bags…" Dean muttered out of context.

"Huh?" Sam questioned, as if it wasn't even a word.

"We should grab the bags," he elaborated.

"Oh, yeah," Sam agreed, breaking slightly from his hyper-focused daze. Both doors creaked open, and the brothers stepped out into the full night air. Each leaned on their car door for a moment, then Sam swung his shut, turned, and headed toward the trunk.

Dean lingered; he glanced around at the details of the area; it felt safe. Nowhere ever felt safe, so on those grounds alone he wanted to mistrust the situation, but his gut told him different. His gut told him the only things to be leery of were his brother's suspicious behavior, and the extreme tally of missing cats. Dean pulled open the back door and grabbed what was on the seat as he listened to his brother rummage through the trunk.

Sam felt his way through the piles of junk, locating what they needed. He slung a couple of bags over his shoulder and hooked the rest with his hand. He was just about to pull them out when a tiny blur pounced onto his hand and let out a not so ferocious 'mew'. Nevertheless, it scared the crap out of him, and he screamed as if a hell-hound had gotten hold of his arm.

"Sammy!" Dean rounded the edge of the trunk, gun out, ready to fire.

"Whoa! Dean, don't!" Sam shouted. "It's just a kitten… see?" The small antagonist stepped forward into what little light there was, revealing itself to indeed be only a kitten. A patchy smattering of grey and gold fur, with a soft white tummy, and bright green eyes that were sweet as could be, the kitten stared up at the new visitors and once again greeted them like a proper host.

"Mew," it repeated flatly. Dean made a face and lowered his gun.

"A cat, Sam? I thought you were half eaten!"

"Sorry, I couldn't see what it was; I thought it was dangerous." The kitten was now rubbing the back of its head gruffly against Sam's shirtsleeve, purring with approval as the young man playfully scratched two fingers deep into its fur.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "real dangerous. Careful, it might puke milk on you."

One bag slung over his shoulder, Dean headed off toward the house, leaving the younger hunter with the rest. Sam released an agitated sigh and returned his full attention to the kitten.

"Hey little guy, you're friendly aren't you," Sam told it. "Not like big bad_- stupid-_ Dean." He reached down and picked it up, his huge hand wrapping full around the circumference of the tiny kitten's stomach. It was too cute: the little nose, the blinking eyes, and the way its front and back legs dangled from his soft grip. It all compounded and caused Sam to break into a wide smile. He lifted it to eye level, and continued their conversation. "Don't worry, I won't let him shoot you," Sam paused then added deviously, "but if you do puke, puke on Dean's leather jacket."

"Reooow!" It responded vocally. Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Okay then." Slightly taken aback, he elbowed the trunk closed, and headed to the porch.

Dean stood at the screen door, nose to the metal mesh, glaring inside.

"Should we just go in?" Dean questioned, slightly confused at how exactly a B&B worked. Sam struggled with the bags, trying not to drop them or the kitten.

"Sure," he agreed confidently. Dean grabbed the door handle, turned it, and continued to stand there.

"Is there a problem?" Sam asked.

"Are you sure we should just… _walk in_? I mean, is that right?"

"What are you hesitating on? You've broken into like a hundred houses."

"Yeah, I guess."

"You guess?" Sam jeered. "We have a pile of bags, a reservation, and a kitten; open the door, Dean!"

"Mew!" Seconded the kitten. Both brothers turned to the kitten in unison surprise.

"Okay,_both_ of you, back off," Dean retorted, "I'm going already!"

Dean pulled open the screen, and stepped just barely into the house, practically teetering on the metal doorsill. He stretched both arms out wide, one holding the screen at bay, while the other pressed open the glass and wood door; palms out flat, the roughness of his right caught firm against the scratch of the screen, the coarseness of his left griped into the splintered texture of the weathered wood. He jerked his head in an indication for his younger brother to 'move it inside', then averted his eyes shiftily.

Sam gaped in brief exasperation; the bastard had still managed to not enter first, and in addition, he was covering it up by looking helpful. Sam rolled his eyes as he awkwardly squeezed past his older sibling hauling the kitten and what felt like most of their belongings. Two long steps in and Sam heard the screen door smack shut, closing them into the interior of the house. It had a homey, lived in feel to it: hard wood floors tossed with worn, faded rugs, an eclectic mix of comfortable furniture which seemed to span across the styles of five decades, and a warm sugared smell of summer berries and cinnamon.

Sam dropped their bags to the floor and glanced around. A large wooden staircase seemed to divide the house in half, with an artwork lined wall to its left, and an open banister to its right. The steps stretched upward connecting the lower floor to the dark and currently shadowed second level.

Just left of the stairs, a large doorframe opened into a formal style dining room. Almost as dark as upstairs, the twin candles that flickered in the side-by-side windows cast the only light, which playfully shifted the shadows of the room, and stretched just far enough to reveal the end of a doily-covered dining table.

Dean stepped forward toward the only well lit part of the house, the living room. To their right was a small room with a pillow covered couch, a small shaker style coffee table, and a large stone fireplace. Against the wall, directly to their right, stood a heavy rustic desk, which seemed to be used for the dual purpose of dividing the room from the entrance and checking in guests. It was organized, yet still covered in papers and personal belongings including a tea stained, faded mug, with the band members from '_Kizz_' on it.

Dean leaned forward to check down the hall; he then turned to join in a shared shrug with his brother regarding the obvious lack of person. At a loss, he approached the desk and slid the reservation book around to face him.

"Well… we're in the book," he confirmed casually. Without pausing he picked up a smooth decorated rock that was being used as a paperweight. He read its dulled, simple, hand painted message.

"'_Number One Mom'. _Why are they always number one?" Dean questioned. Sam glanced at him, confused. "How come none of them are ever, ya know… 'Number _Two_ Mom'?" This was just the stupid sort of thing only Dean could come up with, and then ask about at just the wrong time.

"Dean!"

"I'm just sayin', they can't _ALL_ be number one."

Sam shot him a fierce glare, "Dean, try to remember why the hell it is we're here."

Dean paused; actually, he _had_ forgotten why the hell they were here, or at least for under what pretense they were here. He was here to see if he could get one step closer to discovering what his younger brother was hiding from him, why Sam hadn't been the same since the night he'd been shot, and why investigating this lead had been so direly important to him. Sam was here, supposedly, to investigate a shaky lead on a Bed and Breakfast that had suffered the mysterious disappearance and most likely murders of three young children. _Children…_ Dean thought. _Number one… mom? Oops…_

"Right- not the time to pick on mom."

He put the paperweight back down, but not before noticing the undersized adult handwriting marked closer to its bottom: 'Jenny age 8, 1986'. Dean contemplated the date, but when a small service bell at the end of the desk caught his eye, his mind quickly shifted gears.

"Hey, there's a bell!" he announced.

"Well, ring it," Sam advised curtly.

"Right," Dean muttered. "Holy fuck!" As he outstretched his hand, something large and dark lunged up onto the desk; he lurched away and in a panic brought his hands up into a karate chop short of defense. The old, eccentric looking, black and grey cat scowled at him judgingly as it held guard on the service bell.

"Careful Dean." Sam smirked. "It might puke milk on you." Dean relaxed his stance as he glowered at his kid brother.

"You're hilarious. Why don't you ring the bell while I stand here and laugh at how funny you are."

"Fine." Sam took one step, then grimaced and bit his bottom lip; he had placed the kitten on his upper chest, and it was now climbing up his shoulder, making its way around the back of his neck. With each step it gripped its tiny claws through his shirt, into his skin. "Shit that hurts." Sam cringed in an attempt to contain his discomfort. He reached behind his head, awkwardly grabbed hold of the kitten, and held it out in front of his face. "You're a little trouble maker."

"Reow," it said quietly.

"Yeah." Sam smiled. "You're lucky you're cute."

"Are you gonna ask for its number, or would that be too forward?" Dean piped in; Sam scowled. "Bell, Sammy." Sam rolled his eyes and approached the overweight, unfriendly cat. He leaned forward cautiously.

"Hey there big guy, wanna let me ring the bell?" The ornery feline backed down at the request, but the moment Sam reached within range, a sharp swipe ripped across the back of his hand.

"Ow!" He screeched. The cat hissed ferociously. "What the-?" he added under his breath as he cradled his hand against his chest.

"You might want to put the kitten down," came a matronly voice out of nowhere. The brothers turned to see and older woman approaching slowly from down the dimly lit hall. "He's not the friendliest cat, but piss him off and Rambo can be downright nasty."

_Rambo?_ Both brothers silently mouthed to one another.

"Uh… right." Sam obliged and gently set the kitten down on the floor. It pattered over to the end of the desk, jumped into a cushioned cat bed, and started playing with the closest toy. Rambo calmed down, yet continued to give Sam the evil eye.

"Was beginning to think you weren't coming," the woman said as she stepped behind the desk, "especially after you cancelled last night."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Dean piped in, "travel troubles."

"There's a lot of that going around. Had the place booked solid for the weekend, both rooms. Then I got back-to-back cancellations just before you called. You're lucky, it's nearly impossible to get a room in this town during peak season."

Dean took no notice, but Sam's mind started to churn: _impossible to get a room… back-to-back cancellations?_ Ed had a hand in this for sure; it was all part of the plan. But what plan? Sam still had no idea. Just as Ed had requested, he had gotten his brother to investigate the lead on the mangled news clipping. Although his part was now pretty much complete, Sam's extreme curiosity and brazen draw to Ed compelled him to know more. To need more. He glanced around longingly. _Where are you,_ he thought.

Sam drifted and wondered if Ed could be pulling a similar masquerade as before. He eyed the old woman with curiosity. She appeared to be in her late sixties, had long salt and pepper hair, wore purple-framed glasses, and an oversized tank top over a casual floral dress. Still a little plump, her body had the extra skin of a person who had recently lost weight, yet hadn't exercised in over a decade.

The idea of this woman being Ed incognito was unappealing, and no longer a possibility the moment Sam inspected the mug she was holding. Steam rose from the milky liquid that was the wrong hue to be coffee. He gave a strong sniff.

"Earl Grey?" He inquired with a nod.

"Lady Grey," she said, confirming the type of tea. "Good nose, you were close," she added with an impressed smile. Sam smiled back until he noticed the look on Dean's face. He dropped it and straightened up, finalizing the logic in his head; if this was not coffee, this was not Ed.

The older woman placed the mug on the desk and began checking them in with the credit card Dean had tossed on the blotter.

"Well… like I said, I have two rooms and both cancelled out, so you boys have the whole place to yourself." Dean gave a silent smile. "Now I put you in the 'Pretty in Pink' room; it has a fireplace, a stand up shower, and a king-size bed." Dean gave a not so silent frown.

"Uh… just a king-size bed?" He panicked. She looked up, pulled her glasses down her nose, and peered over them. "There isn't a second bed?" Dean elaborated, "or a cot," he began to freak, "large foot stool maybe?"

"No," she stated.

"No," Dean repeated quietly. There was a short silence. "Uh… you don't happen to have maybe- like-"

"Can we have a room with two beds, please?" Sam interjected.

"Uh… what he said," Dean confirmed. She glanced them over, assessing. She didn't seem to believe they really needed two beds, but humored their discretion just the same.

"No problem," she said calmly. "I'll put you in the other room, the 'Pink Floyd' room." Dean shook his head, taken aback.

"Excuse me? Did you say 'Pink Floyd'? As in the band?"

"Yeah," she said slightly insulted by his tone, "this_ is _Woodstock, we _have_ heard of music ya know."

"Right."

"That room has a oversized bath, _two_ twin beds," she noted glancing up, "and a deck that leads down to the hot tub."

"Uh, did you say hot tub?" Dean blurted with shock.

"Yes," she confirmed. "It's built into the deck just outside the game room."

"You have a game room?!" Dean gushed, unable to hide the excitement from his voice. She paused and looked up.

"Yeah, it's in the basement: pool table, flat screen television, full bar, just mixers of course, but I think the last guests left some alcohol down there so help yourself." Dean stared, dumbfounded by their uncharacteristically good fortune. She was slightly perplexed by his reaction. "Didn't you boys see all this on the web site?"

"We uh… no." Dean said flatly.

"Sometimes I don't know why I invested in that damn internet crap," she mumbled to herself. "Well listen, here's the key." Dean snatched it excitedly out of her hand before she even had a chance to hold it out; the move was abrupt enough to prompt a mutual glance between her and Sam over _the shorter one's_ odd enthusiasm. In the end, she broke down and smiled with a slight laugh, then caught site of Sam's hand.

"Oh! I didn't realize he hurt you," she exclaimed in an apologetic tone. Sam covered the long, slightly bloody scratch with his other hand.

"I'm fine."

"Yeah," Dean blew it off, "he's like Wolverine, quick healer." She raised an eyebrow in confused response to Dean's humor; Sam broke into an uncomfortable laugh.

"Wolver-whatever," she replied, "there's band-aids and Bactine in the bathroom medicine cabinet, put something on that for him," she instructed Dean in a strict, motherly tone.

"Yes m'am," Dean complied, respectfully straightening up. She gave him an approving nod, and turned back to Sam.

"Again, I am sorry about Rambo," she told him. "He's been so protective of Batty. You know, ever since-"

"Batty?" Sam questioned.

"The kitten," she nodded down at the kitten, who was literally batting a small cat toy with its paws. "Little thing showed up a couple of days ago, cute as heck." Sam stared down at it; an affectionate smile sprawled across his face.

"Batty," he repeated to himself. It _was_ cute as heck, and Sam couldn't help but feel drawn to it.

"I'd scold the old cat," she said, giving Rambo a rough scratch behind his ear, "but then, I can't really blame him given everything that's happened over the past few months." Dean and Sam's expression instantly shifted and Sam dove in.

"Right, we um… read the article… about the um…" he hesitated uncomfortably.

"Oh that article," she complained. "I don't care what the police said, three deaths like that… it's not normal."

"So uh," Dean began, "do you work for Hilda?"

"Work for Hilda?" She exclaimed again thrown by their confusion. "I am Hilda."

"You're Hilda Truelace?" Sam blurted. The brothers exchanged a quick glance, there was no way this woman was young enough to have small children. Hilda pressed her hands to the desk and stared at them.

"Of course I'm Hilda. Didn't you recognize me from the picture in the paper?"

"Uh…" Sam shook his head. "We didn't… I mean…"

"We didn't have the full article," Dean said. "There was no photo, and actually, what we did have was sort of… mangled." Dean finished honestly.

"Well, lets see," she said getting distracted in a mess of papers. "Here ya go," she said, handing Dean the full article, photo and all. "Take it, I'm tired of running across it every time I shift something on the desk." Dean began to look at it but was quickly cut off. "Now I hate to be rude, but I've been waiting for you two to turn up so I could turn in."

"Oh, yeah, sure," Sam said.

"Yours is the room to the left at the top of the stairs. Breakfast is at 10am, use the game room and hot tub late as you like so long as you're quiet, and help yourself to blueberry pie, I just made it, it's on the counter in the kitchen." Dean's jaw fell slightly open.

"Home made pie?" he gushed with astonishment.

"Oh, and ice cream, top shelf of the freezer," she added as she headed down the hall with her now lukewarm tea.

"Thanks Hilda! You rock!" Dean blurted unable to help himself.

"Call me Hildy, sweetie. Goodnight."

"Ok! Night Hildy!" He called after her. Sam gave him a look, and all Dean could say to defend himself was: "Dude, warm pie."

* * *

Thanks everyone! 

I really hope you'll take a sec and review - I'd love some reassurance that I haven't lost all my readers.

While you contemplate doing that - I'm gonna go get some pie.

Kate )


	10. Chapter 10

Hey everyone-

Thanks for the big welcome back and for all the reviews and feedback!

You rock!!!

Quickly- here's a GREAT BIG HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my super crazy bud Mishka!

If I could send you Jensen- you know I would. But I can't- so you get nothing. Happy Birthday.

Okay folks! Here we go:

* * *

**Energies and Ice Cream**

**CH 10**

"Hey, I got pie." Sam barely turned his head in recognition as his brother entered the room with a plate full of blueberry pie in one hand, and two beers hooked and hanging from the fingers of his other. He dropped one bottle, cold frosted with condensation, onto the dresser near Sam and watched cautiously as it slid back towards the wall. Once it came to a halt, Dean moved to his bed, dropped the second beer onto the nightstand, and began to eat one of the two slices of pie he had piled onto the plate. He glanced around the room.

"Namn thes's a -ool -uckin -oom!" He mumbled through a full mouth of doughy mangled berries. Sam gave him an odd look and received only a giant grin full of blue-coated teeth in return. He rolled his eyes and scanned the room as well; it was sort of cool he supposed, better than the girly room they had both expected.

Pink Floyd posters covered every wall except the one behind the beds, and that one was pure white brick with the words 'Pink Floyd The Wall' sprawled across the center in black paint. Each dresser had a black light mounted behind it so that the posters above were illuminated with a trippy, florescent glow, and the bedspreads were printed with early images of Syd Barrett on one, and Roger Waters on the other. Dean leaned back onto Roger and enjoyed the poster above his head which included six naked women sitting on the edge of a pool, with said band's album art painted across their bare backs. Dean had never liked the band more than at this very moment. He swallowed the last bite of the first piece of pie.

"Are you done yet? Seriously, how long does it take you to unpack?" Dean stared at his brother, trying to figure out what the hell he was doing.

"I'm just making sure everything's here," Sam said defensively.

"What? You're taking inventory? Sammy leave it," he instructed. "None of that shit matters when there's pie in the room." Sam turned and watched as his brother continued to lick his fork long after it was already clean. "Here." Dean held the now sparkly fork out for him.

"What?" Sam questioned, baffled.

"Grab your beer, get over here, and eat your pie. That's an order!" Sam stared, truly thrown.

"That… that's _my_ pie?" He questioned with surprise, pointing at the second piece that was now sitting on the side table, exchanged for Dean's beer.

"Well yeah, what'd you think? They were both for me?"

"Uh… actually… yeah."

"Hey, if you don't want it?"

"No- no- I want it," Sam admitted as he grabbed his beer and moved to the cushioned hanging chair on the other side of Dean's night table.

Sam took the personally cleaned fork and the pie plate and leaned back into the chair. The moment he shifted his weight, the chair began to spin awkwardly. It wasn't that stable, and he gazed at the ceiling to where it was hooked into the cracked drywall, wondering how long it would hold his weight. He braced his foot against the nightstand, and as the chair stopped spinning, he scooped up a Dean size bite of pie, and shoved it into his mouth.

"What'd I tell ya, Sammy?" Dean leaned forward and slapped his little brother's leg. "Pie." He stated for the umpteenth time. Sam tried not to spew as a sudden urge to laugh butted heads with the pie currently sliding down his throat. He swallowed hard, and the second his air passage was clear, burst out laughing.

"Pie… yeah Dean, you mentioned that," he said still laughing. "Man, I had no idea you liked pie so much."

"Not just any pie," Dean said seriously, "homemade. I'm telling ya, I thought this place was gonna suck ass, be nothing but an antique doily collector's wet dream," Sam briefly choked, "but this… this place rocks man! I mean it! This place is just what we need: time off, chill out a bit, use the game room, soak in the hot tub…"

"Dude, aren't you forgetting something," Sam quickly reprimanded.

"What? Nobody's around, we'll just use our boxers." Sam stared blankly.

"No Dean, the case? We're here for a hunt," Sam reminded. Dean shifted upright and turned serious.

"Yeah, I gotta talk to you about that," he stated quickly. Sam's eyes narrowed.

"What?" He blurted with little patience and put down his pie. Dean pulled the crumpled article Hilda had given him out of his jeans pocket; Sam looked on with apprehension.

"So, when I was getting the ya know… pie," Dean began, "I was waiting for the ice cream to soften…"

"Where is the ice cream?" Sam suddenly asked, noticing that the pie had indeed been served ice cream-less. Dean hesitated.

"It wasn't ice cream, it was fat free yogurt. Anyway," he continued without missing a beat, "I took a look at your brilliant lead. I gotta tell ya Sammy, most hunters would have let this baby slip by unnoticed, but not you. No, you've gotta real knack for--"

"Dean-" Sam cut his brother short. "Just read the article."

"Sure thing," Dean said with a smile. Sam shifted his jaw, he wasn't sure what was coming, but he was pretty sure he wasn't going to like it. Dean unfolded the article, coughed out a rather theatrical throat clear, and began to read…

"Bizarre B&B Disappearances Results in… _Catastrophic_ Deaths." He cleared his throat again and continued. "Mrs. Hilda Truelace, owner of The Perfectly Pink Bed and Breakfast, of Woodstock NY, was devastated yesterday when she discovered the body of Chloe--" Dean looked up at his brother with a smirk, "--her_orange tabby cat_--"

Sam cringed and covered his face with his hand. _Ed_,_if you were actually alive, I'd kill you._

"--age two," Dean pressed on, "inside the engine of her car. Truelace was the proud mother of _four cats_ only a few short months ago, and then tragedy struck when her _babies--"_ Dean shot his brother another look, "--began to mysteriously disappear only to be found days later dead on the property of the B&B. Truelace--"

"Okay Dean, I get it!" Sam attempted to cease his brother's enjoyment; Dean just kept reading… and louder.

"TRUELACE first discovered the body of her beloved Bobby, named for his bobcat like qualities, in the dryer. Only three weeks later… _bla bla bla Shelby… bla bla bla cat-sickle… dead in the freezer_. Police have refused to investigate the case further… _I fucking wonder why?_" He added, "--and Truelace is rightfully concerned for the safety of her remaining cat Rambo. 'Not to worry,' says Truelace, 'Rambo is a tough old cat and will kick the ass of whoever is screwing with my family.'" Dean tossed the article at his brother with a large grin and a belch. He punched his chest. "Oh Sammy… this… is… beautiful," Dean said wiping a pretend tear from his eye.

"Dean! There was no way from the copy I had- I mean- I couldn't possibly-"

"Sam Ventura!" The older sibling announced, "Pet Detective!" He leaned closer and attempted to be serious. "I hear there's some raccoons in Milwaukee falsely accused of haunting a bottle factory. If you like, we can swing by--"

"Dean!"

"Possessed lama in Albuquerque?"

"Stop it."

"Demonic circus rats in Toledo?"

"Dean… stop…" Sam begged, cracking a smile in spite of himself.

"Save the sperm whales?" Dean added quietly, then shook his head 'no?' in response to his kid brother's look of death. "Sammy…" Dean started to giggle. "Seriously dude."

Sam broke first. He slumped back in his chair, kicked his legs up, and began to laugh. Dean took a long swig of beer, and joined in. As the laughter began to die down, Dean stood up and walked to his brother, beverage in hand. Sam looked up at him, noting his brother's fairly serious stance.

"Sam for real," he said sincerely, "we could use a break, and this place just fell in our laps." Sam smiled uncomfortably. It hadn't exactly fallen; it was more like Ed pushed it. "How 'bout it? Let's take a couple days off."

_Look at him,_ Sam thought as he evaluated his brother, _he means it. He wants-- _Sam averted his eyes. He looked down into his lap and attempted to hide his guilt over the situation by slowly tugging the damp wrapper from his beer.

Dean waited for a response, well aware of the younger sibling's avoidance.

_Come on man,_ Dean urged mentally, _cut it a break… say 'okay'. Say 'okay' so you can get some rest, so we can hang out like brothers, so I can help you-- just-- _Dean placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. _Say 'okay'. _

As Sam felt Dean's grasp, everything halted: the worry, the guilt, the confusion, the anger, everything shuddered away for one moment and left him with a single thought.

"Okay," Sam uttered. Dean smiled and backed off.

"Good," Dean said as he crossed the room. "Now get your ass up and locate some clean boxers, we're going to the hot tub."

"Uh…" Sam quickly oscillated. "You go ahead." He stood and moved from the hanging chair to his bed, grabbing a book on the way. Dean stopped cold.

"You're staying." How had he not seen this coming? Dean watched as the young hunter casually leafed through the small book in his lap.

Sam pretended to read as his brother's words persistently poked at him for response. He knew Dean wanted them to go down together, and he wanted to go, but screw what he wanted, and screw Dean, in the end it was just another thing his older brother expected him to do simply because he said so. Sam's stubborn pride affixed him to the bed.

"Yeah, I'm gonna stay," Sam stated keeping his eye line down. Dean paused for a total of two seconds; he then marched across the room, pulled the book from Sam's hand, and tossed it onto the bed. Having evoked exactly the response from Dean that he wanted, Sam looked up with a 'what the fuck?' glare.

"Sam--" Dean began, then hesitated uncomfortably. "Jesus you're turning me into a girl here. Look- I thought we were gonna hang out."

"I thought we were gonna get rest." Sam countered as he picked up his book. Dean looked away.

"Fine," he said in quiet defeat. He quickly grabbed a towel from the bathroom and headed toward the sliding door to the balcony.

"Dean--" Sam called.

"No Sam- whatever, do what you want. You know where to find me." He shoved the glass door along its rollers and bolted out into the dark.

Sam's fist tightened around the book's binder as the sound of his brother's footsteps pounded down the wood steps of the balcony. He sat obstinate to the situation until the pounding faded, then bolted to the sliding door and slammed it shut. It swiped quickly in front of him and hit into the door frame, but the only payoff was an extremely unsatisfying, quiet bump.

"FUCK!" he shouted. Furious with everything, particularly the lack of door slam, Sam turned and threw his book across the room. It spun with a page-flapping flourish and smacked hard into _The Wall_. Who needed education?

"Fuck," he exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. "Why does he have to--" Sam turned and grasped the top edges of the dresser. As his fingernails dug into the wood, he caught his reflection in the large dresser mirror. His expression immediately softened. "Ed… Ed please…" he looked into the eyes of his reflection as if they belonged to another, "I need you here." Sam shut his eyes and silently attempted to will Ed to him; when he opened them, he was still alone.

Sam sighed and dragged himself to the bed. He sprawled himself across it like an angst teenager wronged by the world, grabbed a pillow, and hugged it over his face. The moment he settled, he heard the intruding sound of tiny, wet hacking. Sam shoved the pillow away and rolled over so his face was hanging off the edge of the bed. Down on the floor, directly next to a small wooden chair, Dean's leather jacket lay in a heap. Upon it sat the fuzzy little kitten from earlier, proudly hacking up partially digested milk all over the jacket's inner liner.

"Aw gross," Sam commented scrunching his face in repulsion. "Dean's gonna kill you, kitty."

"Hoawck-hoaw-ck-ck," the tiny ball of fur continued.

"Stop it," Sam instructed unable to suppress a slight snicker. "Bad kitty," he added weakly. Sam reached down and picked up the kitten. He held it away for a moment to make sure it was done puking, then sat himself up straight and brought it over the bed. "That's not funny," he scolded.

"Mew."

"Okay, it's a little funny."

"Hoawck."

"Ugh!" Sam swung the kitten back just in time for the final splotch of vomit to hurl out exorcist style onto the only unstained portion of his brother's beloved jacket. "Nice one." The kitten responded with a tiny belch, then went back to being overall cute.

Sam stared at it; he had to admit, he was sort of happy to see it.

"Hey there, Batty. You're a little stinky at the moment, but thanks for stopping by. Since Ed couldn't bother to make an appearance, I could use the compan--" Sam's eyes widened, as a sudden realization slapped him in the head:

_Please, I need you here…_

_Little thing showed up a couple of days ago... _

_If you do puke…_

"Puke on Dean's leather jacket…" Sam stated numbly as he eyed the small dangling kitten. "Shit… Ed?"

"Mew."

"Is that you?"

"Mew."

"Holy crap!"

Sam dropped the kitten onto the bed.

"Reow!" It complained with a soft thump.

"Sorry… sorry…" Sam apologized to the slightly disgruntled kitten. "I just-- I mean--" He took a deep breath. "I thought you weren't coming. The last time you were gone for like two weeks and--" Sam bent low and looked it in the eyes. It batted him lightly in the face with one paw, then stepped forward and rubbed the top of its head against the scruff of his chin.

"Mew."

Sam broke down and smiled affectionately, whatever he had been complaining about left his mind; he dropped back onto the bed.

"A kitten," Sam laughed to himself, "and I thought a stripper was a crazy disguise." Sam propped himself up and got serious. "Listen, I don't know what your plan is bringing us here, and I know you're used to working alone, but Ed… you can trust me, whatever it is." The kitten stared at him, considering. "All I'm saying is, if you let me… I can help."

Sam sat in anticipation of Ed's response. The kitten blinked twice and simply said…

"Mew." Sam sighed in disappointment.

"I thought you'd say that." Sam again collapsed onto the bed. He threw an arm over his eyes and returned to brooding.

"Right. Well whatever you're gonna do, try and hurry it up. I can't handle much more of Dean's bullshit." Sam shook his head and thought of earlier. "He just doesn't get it; he doesn't know how to shut it off, the whole big brother thing, ya know? It's always what _he_ says. I mean seriously, _you_ listen to me more than Dean and I've only known you for what, four, five weeks?"

"Meow."

"Exactly," Sam replied seriously. "I just--" He attempted to suppress his emotions. "Why can't he be more like-- whatever." He shook it off.

Suddenly, Sam felt the kitten step up onto his stomach. It walked across him until it reached his chest, then dropped down and curled up into a comfortable little ball. Sam peeked out from under his arm and the two stared at one another for a moment.

"Uh Ed, you're seriously invading my personal space here." Sam waited for a response but only received a low and persistent purr. He relaxed as the deep sound resonated through his chest. Oddly, the feeling instantly calmed him. Before he could help himself, Sam felt his eyes drifting shut. He attempted to keep awake, but quickly yawned and fell into an uncontrolled desire to give in.

_Damn kitten powers,_ he thought, and with that, Sam's head nodded to the side, and he fell into a solid sleep.

* * *

His long arm stretched across the nightstand and grabbed the clock. He had been asleep well over an hour. Sam rubbed his eyes and sat up. He double checked the bed, then stood and searched the room; the kitten was gone. Sam scratched his head and headed out into the house. He trailed down the main stairs and wandered around until he reached the door to the basement. It was cracked open with light seeping through from the lower level. Sam pulled it open and crept down the creaking wooden steps. He turned the corner and entered a fairly lavish, furnished game room. Directly in front of him, taking up almost half of the room, was a regulation size pool table, fitted with a hard wood cover. Against the wall to the left was a full entertainment system complete with flat screen television and Xbox game system. Built against the right wall was the bar: it ran the length of the room and as promised, was completely stocked. Glasses and mixers lined the back wall and cushioned barstools ran parallel the front. The center of the room contained a large comfy looking couch with a low coffee table in front of it, and a small refrigerator next to it. Sam strolled forward and opened it. It was filled with cold beers; no wonder his brother wanted to hang out down here. 

Upon closer inspection Sam noticed a half empty bottle of beer on the coffee table, and some shot glasses midway down the bar. He stepped through the room and checked out one of the glasses. It was empty and smelled of alcohol. Sam eyed the other shot; it was full. He picked it up, and upon realizing it contained scotch, downed it in one smooth gulp. He was a bit surprised by his action, but brushed it off, placed the glass back onto the bar, and slid it across the wood. It slammed with a conflicting clank into the other glass; both toppled over and rolled away from one another.

The warm shiver of hard liquor faded through him; Sam focused on the glowing lights beyond the sliding glass doors. He proceeded forward and made his way out onto the lower deck. It was dark, only the lights inside and along the edges of the hot tub illuminated the remote area. The water was still, as was its occupant. Eyes shut, one hand clasping a rock glass at the edge of the tub, Dean sat in the shadowed water well aware he was no longer alone.

"Finally decided to join me," he said bitterly. Sam stayed put; he didn't like Dean's tone and took his time in answering.

"I fell asleep." Sam stood in the dark and unsettling quiet as Dean took a lax approach in his dialogue.

"Yeah… so what are you doing down here?"

"Nothin', I just…" Sam got a better look at his brother as his eyes adjusted. He noticed the rock glass, a mostly empty bottle of scotch, and a tipped over pint of ice cream. "…nothin'."

"Yeah… sounds about right." Dean said scornfully. Sam felt his anger rising; he knew they had left things a big disgruntled, but Dean's tone was downright contemptuous. "So Sammy, long as you're passing though, wanna be useful and hit the timer over there?"

Sam turned, a bit confused by the request, then noticed the timer to start the hot tub was built into the wall of the house. He wondered how long Dean had been soaking in the stagnant cooling tub unable to rouse his drunken limbs the five feet to turn it back on.

"Actually, I don't think I will," Sam stated. Dean laughed dryly.

"Fine, I'll get it myself." Dean pulled himself up onto the deck, but as his knee pressed into the edge of the tub, he lost balance and slipped back in. Suddenly registering just how drunk his brother was, Sam rushed over and intervened before another attempt could be executed. "Stop it Sam, get off me." Dean pushed him away and settled back into his submerged seat.

Sam evaluated for a moment; the situation needed handling.

"You can't stay here Dean."

"Fuck off man," Dean grumbled quietly.

"You're drunk," Sam said as he gripped a stern hand onto his brother's shoulder.

"I know what I am." Dean shoved the hand away. "Just get outta here."

"Dean, I'm not leaving you down here alone."

"You were fine with it an hour ago." The comment was intended to leave a bitter sting, but Sam could feel the hurt behind it. He tried a less aggressive approach.

"Dean, come on… please. Let's go upstairs." Dean stared off blankly. Sam waited for a bit, unsure of what to do.

"Ya know… I lied before about the ice cream." Dean said quietly. "It was ice cream." Sam glanced at the container he had noticed earlier. It was empty, a sticky spoon still inside it. Sam remained silent; Dean continued. "The one in the freezer… for the pie. I was so fucking excited about that pie." Dean drifted briefly into silence. "I had it out, half scooped… and then…" He drifted off again, this time remaining silent long enough for Sam to interject.

"Come on Dean, get up." Sam again placed a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"That night… that fucking night…" Sam numbly pulled his hand away. "I didn't know that would happen… I still don't know what the fuck happened." Dean turned and looked at him. "Sammy… what the fuck's going on?"

Sam felt a shiver pulse through him, this had turned so fast, and although he knew exactly what his brother was asking, his head wanted to convolute it into something else.

"You're drunk." Sam grabbed his brother and began to yank him from the tub. Before he could complete the action, Dean turned and grasped his hands into the fabric of Sam's shirt, pulling him close.

"Sammy," Dean looked at him with a raw desperation, "the night you were shot, what really happened?" Sam kept silent. "And the strip club, why was she after you? How the hell did you end up in that accident?"

"Dean, seriously," Sam evaded, "you know everything."

"I don't," Dean insisted, "you're keeping shit from me… you're in trouble… you just won't tell me… why won't you tell me?"

Dark and deep Sam's chest hurt, like summer sun burning into a skinned wound. _Because I don't know how to talk to you,_ he though painfully, _and it's fucked me up so bad. _ Sam sneered; he was furious with his brother for putting him in this situation.

"Get out of the tub, Dean," he growled. The words filed out and formed a wall, stiff and arrogant, Sam barricaded behind it. Dean immediately sobered enough to push himself up and past his younger sibling. He was half way to the sliding doors when he turned in his steps.

"What the fuck are you thinking? You think you're gonna blow me off and I'm just gonna drop it?"

"Go to bed, Dean." His tone was condescending and intolerant, and as Sam made for the door, Dean grabbed him and yanked him to a halt.

"Tell me what's going on," he forced.

"No!"

"I'm your brother!"

"I don't care!" Sam burst as he fiercely shoved Dean away.

Dean stumbled back onto the damp wood slats, halting himself with a hand palmed to the deck. He staggered up and stood silent, both the drunkenness and the remark resonating through him. He shook his head vacantly as he turned and fled into the house. Sam watched, a mixture of anger and regret rousing though him. The moment his brother was out of earshot, he reacted.

"Dean!" He called with exasperation. Completely irritated, he made to go after him, steadily moving into the game room. Just before he rounded the corner to the stairs, he stopped short; the kitten sat on all fours blocking his path.

Sam went ballistic.

"YOU!!" He shouted irately at the wide-eyed kitten. "What the fuck were you thinking? Nothing's getting solved here! Nothing!"

"Mew," it protested.

"Don't you fucking _meow_ at me! You were supposed to fix this Ed! You promised!" Sam moved away to the bar and stood hunched, grasping the edge of it with furious fists. He stared down at the dual shot glasses he had earlier propelled into a colliding rift. "It's only getting worse!" He roared, and swiped his arm across the bar sending the small glasses rolling with a crash into the wall.

Without looking back, he stormed off through the sliding doors, throwing them shut as he left. This time they collaborated to produce the appropriately desired _SLAM!_

The little kitten blinked at the sight and sound of the large human stomping away, then looked up and over its shoulder.

Ed stepped out from behind the wall in his old familiar form. He crossed his legs, folded his arms, and leaned his shoulder against the wall. Both kitten and Ed stared off and beyond the doors to where Sam had disappeared into the night.

"Reoow," Batty complained.

"Yeah, I know," Ed agreed, clearly miffed. "Don't worry…" he added darkly. "I'll talk to him."

* * *

Thanks everybody- 

So now you know the kitten was actually _not_ Ed- just sort of an accomplice.

As always - love to hear from you guys!

Next post - next Thursday!

_-Kate _


	11. Chapter 11

Hey All!

First just want to send another thanks to my beta- we all know who she is at this point. Couldn't do it without her! Yay Kaewi!

Now the story- 

Okay - I don't want you to think I'm going to drag this thing out forever (cause I'm not). And given your reviews, I know it seems like both boys have their heads up their asses (cause they do) - and Sam is about to shove his up a little further. But things always get worse before they get better (I just keep telling myself that where my life is concerned - so I'd better be right or I'm fucked.) anyway- 

Here's the worse before the better…

* * *

**Energies and Ice Cream**

**CH 11**

Sam pressed his face into the pillow, burying his eyes from the pending sunlight. He didn't want to wake up, he didn't even want to remember where he was, he simply wanted to remain asleep, adrift in the void between nothingness and nonsense. Slowly he pulled from it as his body began to stir, then one false turn and the sunlight seeped through his eyelids. Finally, the stretch came, the yawn followed, and Sam opened his eyes. 

He was in what had been designated Dean's bed, furthest from the door, next to the odd swinging chair. The other bed, his bed, was empty, except for mangled sheets and a wet towel. He wondered briefly whether the towel was from last night. _Argh… last night,_ he thought, and with a grumble, pulled the pillow over his head. 

Sam had spent a good thirty minutes lying in the dark damp field behind the house. The first five had been dedicated to watching his brother's drunken silhouette stumble around their black light lit room, the second five had gone to cursing throughout his mental replay of the evening's events, and the later twenty had been involuntarily given to sleep, the grassy night dew seeping leisurely through his clothes. When Sam woke, he was cold, he was wet, and all movement in the top floor windows was at a still. He had trekked his way up the two flights of outdoor stairs to their room, and then following his brother's lead, changed into dry boxers and a t-shirt, pulled a sheet over himself, and officially called it a night. His last official memory was of the half eaten pie growing stale on the nightstand as he stretched to click off the light; the thought of its wasted remains taunted him as he struggled into sleep.

"I've got cake!" The loud, overly awake voice announced as it entered the room. "And something for you, little bro." Dean walked to the far bed and placed a breakfast plate heaped with food onto Sam's pillow; unfortunately, the pillow was still covering Sam's face. Sam reached a lanky arm out and patted his hand around until he realized what the additional weight was.

"Erghh! Dean," he groaned. "Um, would you mind-" 

"Got it Sammy." Sam suddenly felt a fork shoved into his hand; that hand quickly fell limp onto the bed with exasperation. 

"Dean! The plate- move the plate!" Sam begged. 

"But I was just about to take a picture and dub you Pancake Head."

"You're an ass," Sam's voice came muffled from beneath. "Move the-"

'_Click'_ - the small electronic sound intersected Sam's demand. 

"…plate," he finished lamely. 

"You got it Pancake Head." Dean moved the plate into Sam's lap. Not a moment was wasted before Sam tossed the pillow off and sat up with an annoyed frown. "I have to say," Dean lamented, "you looked happier as a pancake." And with that, he held his phone out in Sam's face, the recent photo brightening its screen. 

Sam squinted and leaned in. There he was, half naked, sheets semi covering his body, pillow and plate blocking him from the neck up, and heaped atop the colorful blue china… _Pancake Head._ It was a portrait constructed in food: one heaping stack of pancakes, two bright yellow, side-by-side, sunny side up eggs, and one long curling strip of bacon, all laid out to create the ultimate edible smiley face. 

"Wow… that's um…"

"Pancake Head." Dean smirked, picked the fork off the bed, and re-handed it to his brother. "Dig in." 

Dean made his way to the small wooden chair on the other side of his bed, grabbed a plate off the side table, and began to eat. As Sam sat up straighter and tried to decide where to cut first, he noticed that Dean really was eating a piece of cake. 

"It's sort of early for cake, isn't it?" He commented. 

"It's coffee cake," Dean tweaked, "and it's not early, it's one in the afternoon." 

"What!" Sam exclaimed as he searched for the clock. 

"I thought I slept in at a whopping eleven-thirty." Dean dropped his fork, picked up the cake, and took a bite. Sam sighed as he confirmed the time. 

"Guess I was tired," he said uncomfortably. 

"You guess?" Dean questioned with a stabbing tone. He stopped eating and stared at his younger brother. Sam fidgeted under the heat. 

"Yeah well, I got to bed late," he tried to justify. 

"Yeah… we _both_ did," Dean stated purposefully. He remained quiet, stoic, choosing this moment to unexpectedly toss the _'last night isn't over'_ card on the table. Sam could feel it, everything behind the statement radiating across the room straight into him. He stopped breathing and glanced sharply towards Dean. It was unnerving, the unspoken tension between them, but once Dean had conveyed his point, he dropped it and moved on. "So look," he began, his tone snapping back to normal, "Hildy said there's a garage about two miles outside town. I was thinking we could drive out-"

"I'll take her," Sam jumped in.

"What?"

"The Impala, I'll take her, don't worry about it," Sam pushed his mostly full plate off onto the bed and walked to the bathroom. Dean sat open jawed, then stood and followed. He leaned in the doorframe as Sam washed his face. 

"I was thinking we could _both_ drop her off, then walk back and hang in town until she's fixed," Dean suggested his pre thought out plan. Sam reached into the tub and turned on the shower. 

"There's no point in us both going." Realizing the only towel located higher than the floor was a hand towel, Sam shook his head. "You go to town, I'll take care of the car." He grabbed the towel from the sink and tossed it on the rack by the tub as he made to shut his brother out of the bathroom. Dean quickly brought the action to a halt. 

"Sam, I meant it when I said we could use a break. I'm glad you slept in, you needed it, but that was about four hours of involuntary self indulgence."

"What's your point?" Sam snapped, thoroughly irritated by his brother's know best attitude. 

"My point is you don't need to be hanging out at a fucking gas station all afternoon when you could be sitting in a pub drinking a beer." 

Sam began to protest; he had nothing. 

"Fine. I won't wait. I'll drop her off and meet you in town." 

"Or I could just come with--" 

"Dean, I wrecked her, I'll take her to get fixed," Sam cut his brother off with finality. 

"Ergh... fine," he agreed gruffly, then crossed his arms and appeared to get comfortable. 

Sam stood baffled by his brother's lingering presence; finally he was forced to give a harsh, _'okay, you can go now'_ look. As Dean took the hint, Sam pushed the door shut. When it didn't click closed, only swung until the latch made contact, Dean took advantage and lightly kicked it back open. He walked to the dresser and waited. When he heard the curtain rings rustle, he smirked; somehow his brother had managed to make it under the water without realizing._Sweet…_

Dean sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and leaned on the dresser. He gazed out the glass doors into the farm field; it was just as picturesque during the day. Having woken, showered, used every towel possible, and headed straight down to eat, this was the first time he was getting a good look at the property. It wasn't exactly as he had thought, the light revealing unexpected colors upon the scene. There was an old tractor, and an old pick up truck which looked to be abandoned midway through the field, but instead of the predictable rusted-out look, both were painted in vibrant psychedelic designs. Even the bundles of hay stacked in the back of the pickup seemed to be spray painted with multicolored musical notes.

"Woodstock," Dean grumbled with a headshake. He continued to scan the property until his gaze fell upon the dual silos attached to the barn; he scrunched his eyes in disbelief. 

"Sam," he called. 

"Yeah," Sam responded wondering exactly why his brother sounded so loud. 

"What the fuck am I looking at?" Dean continued. Sam turned the water off and pulled the curtain back on the shower. 

"God damn it, Dean," Sam groaned as he reached, wet and exposed, for the tiny hand towel. 

"Oh yeah… oops," Dean stated casually. "Now what the fuck am I looking at?" Sam stepped from the bathroom, hair and chest dripping with water, tiny towel stretched and held around his waist. Somehow it managed to cover the important parts, yet still left a good two-inch exposed gap at his hip. He joined his brother at the doors and stared out at the barn.

"It's a barn," he explained condescendingly. Dean rolled his eyes. "They're decorative silos," Sam gave in to the answer his brother was looking for, "ya know, like, giant art installments." Dean scrunched his eyes. 

"But…" he began, slightly disturbed, "they look like great big cat heads."

"Yeah… well... they're not very _good_ art installations," Sam admitted.

They stood side by side and gawked open mouthed at the two large silos: both cylinders reached toward the sky with rounded tops and large triangular ears protruding off their curvature at ninety degree angles, the silo to the left was painted to look like the face of a black witches cat, only it was purple, and the silo to the right perfectly resembled a great grinning Cheshire. The silos stared out at the house with eyes that seemed to sparkle in the bright afternoon sun; and Dean wondered if reflectors had actually been nailed into the silos to create the effect. 

"Apparently, they're not only art, they're active." Sam added informatively.

"What?" Dean questioned. "They're holding grain?"

"Not exactly." Sam walked across the room and grabbed a photo frame off the far end table. "Here." He said, handing it to Dean. It was a framed photo and write up on the silos. Dean skim-read the first couple of sentences. 

"You're shitting me," he blurted.

"Nope," Sam confirmed, "One's filled with cat food, and the other with kitty litter." Sam tried to keep a straight face. "They empty out into the barn." Both men leaned forward toward the door, faces practically to the glass. "Apparently they're the largest containers of their kind on the east coast."

"You mean there's more of them?" Dean questioned horrified. 

"I think it's safe to assume the others don't have eyes."

"Right, well… at least we finally have a lead on where all the missing cats took off to." 

"I think you need to let that obsession go," Sam said casually as he moved to the bed and grabbed the solo piece of bacon from his plate. 

"Yeah well, it'd be easier if there wasn't a giant shining cat beacon outside our… holy shit what are you wearing!" Dean exclaimed as he turned to notice the towel for the first time. "Freak- the gladiator look soooo doesn't work for you." 

"Screw you man!" Totally mortified, Sam dropped the bacon, and awkwardly pulled the bed sheet around his lower body. "You didn't leave me any real towels," he bitched defensively. Dean made a face, walked to the small closet next the bathroom, and pulled out a folded stack of three clean towels. He tossed the top one at his brother's head. "Well how was I supposed to know?" Sam complained. 

"Dude, it's a closet," Dean mocked. "They usually _contain_ stuff." He returned to the dresser and leaned back against it. Sam shook the towel out, ruffled it through his hair, and then pulled it over his shoulders cape-like. Dean smirked. "You look stunning Leonidas, very bronze, prepared for glory. Now hurry it up and let's get outta here." 

"You in some sort of rush?" Sam questioned his brother's impatience.

"No, but I'm showered, I'm fed, and I'm ready to get moving."

"You have the attention span of a two year old."

"Huh?"

"Can't you find something to occupy yourself with until I'm ready?" Sam again went for his bacon. 

"How long?"

"I don't know, twenty minutes?"

"Nope, no good," Dean said flatly. Sam sighed loudly.

"Well too bad," he concluded as he cut off a hunk of pancake, "twenty minutes take it or leave it." Dean considered for a total of two point four seconds.

"Leave it." He wandered around the room until he located the pants he had been wearing the night before, picked them up off the floor, and pulled his wallet and keys out of them. "Call me when you get to town," he instructed as he chucked the keys at his brother's head. 

Sam snapped a hand into the air and caught them mid flight.

"You're walking?" He questioned in shock.

"Yeah. So?"

"So… if you just wait I'll drive you and you'll get there the same time." 

"Or I could uh… _not wait_ and get there the same time."

"Okay, then how about it's hot as hell out."

"Don't worry, I've got something to keep me cool." Dean pulled out his sunglasses and slipped them on with attitude and a grin. 

"Fine Fonzie," Sam shook his head, "have it your way."

"Oh I will." Dean made his way to the door. "Catch ya later, Opie Cunningham." And with that, Dean gave a double thumbs up, and headed out.

* * *

After the accurately estimated twenty minutes had passed, Sam grabbed the car keys and headed out. He bounded down the main stairs and exited the front door, pausing uncomfortably as he stepped out from under the shade of the porch into the direct and rather intense rays of the mid-day sun. His eyes squinted in defense of the sudden brightness; Sam brought a hand to them as he staggered his way down the remaining steps half blind. 

Okay, it was hot. There was no humidity, but there was also no breeze, and so as Sam made his way the short distance to the Impala, he wasn't surprised to find Dean leaning against the driver side door. Sam dropped his hand from his face. 

"Change your mind about that ride?" He gloated as he approached his brother. Dean's only response was to remove his sunglasses. He hooked them into the collar of his shirt, folded his arms across his chest, and sighed heavily. "What?" Sam asked. "What is it?" Dean simply shook his head. 

"Ya know Sam," he stated solemnly. "I'm trying here. I am… but I'm running outta options, and you're not exactly helping." Sam's jaw tensed. Why did Dean have to keep reopening this? It was exhausting and pointless and as far as Sam was concerned, the subject was closed. 

"Look Dean, if you want a ride get in, otherwise--"

"What's it gonna take Sam?" Dean cut in. "What's it gonna take for me to solve this thing between you and your brother?" 

"Ed?" Sam's mouth fell agape as he flipped tones. "Hey… uh listen, about last night…"

"Forget last night, just answer my question. What's it gonna take?"

"I… uh… whatever," Sam stumbled out, slightly thrown.

"Whatever?" Ed returned with the raise of an eyebrow. "What'd you mean, whatever? Specifics Sam, what do I need to do?"

"Whatever. Whatever it takes. Whatever you want… whatever."

"Whatever_I _want?" Ed laughed dryly. "No, this is about what _you_ want, kid. It's about _your_ wish."

"I get that but-"

"But what? I've tried a bunch of different shit here Sam and it's all been about as constructive as the dialogue in 'Death Proof'." Sam gave an estranged look; Ed continued without missing a beat. "What I'm saying here is, I don't know what to do anymore; I'm done." 

"What?" Sam tensed and flew off the handle. "You can't be done! I thought we were in this together. Look, whatever you want me to do, I'll do it. Just..." Sam stifled his true emotions with anger. "What is it you want from me?" 

"I want you to try Sam! I want you to make an effort!" Ed spoke up. "It's my job to help, to guide, but in the end it's not me who has to change." 

"I know that!"

"Do you?" 

"Of course I do!" 

"Then act like it!"

"Fine! Tell me what to do!"

"Sam," Ed scoffed.

"Tell me what to do Ed." Sam grabbed him in a fraught appeal. "Come on, I'm in this, you know I am, just tell me--"

"Sam--"

"Fine, leave if that's what you want!" Sam turned quickly. "I don't need you! I don't need Dean! Just go!" 

"Sam--"

"Forget it!" Sam made as if to leave. 

"I don't think so," Ed declared as he grabbed Sam and shoved him against the car. "Listen to me. I never said anything about leaving." Sam rolled his eyes. "I didn't! All I meant was I'm done trying to figure this out on my own. I'm bound to you- remember? I couldn't go away if I wanted to." He paused, and added firmly, "and I don't want to." 

Sam felt a poignant relief as the words sort of twisted inside him. _Okay,_ he thought shakily He dropped his eye line to the ground and went silent.

"Hey," Ed said gently. "Kid… we okay?" Sam glanced up and relinquished a small nod. 

"Yeah… yeah," he confirmed. Sam pushed himself off of the car, rubbed the base of his neck awkwardly, and tried to figure out a way to apologize for losing his shit so easily. 

"Sorry," he said simply. 

"Don't worry about it," Ed downplayed. He leaned against the Impala and eyed Sam's still distracted demeanor. "Sam seriously," he reassured. "Until this is solved… I'm not going anywhere." 

Sam shoved his hands into his pockets and forced a smile. _Until this is solved,_ he contemplated. _Until this is…_Somewhere in this mess of a journey, things between he and Ed had changed. The friendship had snuck up on him, and it was only now he realized that the moment this thing was over, so was their relationship. The relief feeling quickly dissipated, and Sam couldn't ignore what was actually bothering him. _ I don't want him to leave,_ he admitted. _I seriously don't want him to leave. Crap. _A panic swept into him and without thinking, without considering the consequences, he did the only thing he could think of to fix it: fuck things up.

"I still don't see what you expect me to do," he bitched moodily.

"Yeah, I sort of got that," Ed quipped. "Look, I know it's hard, that's why you made the damn wish in the first place, but you can't just sit back and expect it to happen all on its own."

"I don't," Sam contradicted edgily, "and you don't have to talk down to me," he added strategically. Ed stood hesitant, confounded by the rough response. 

"I'm not Sam, and you _know_ I'm not. I'm just saying you have to do your part."

"Right, my part." He repeated gruffly. "And what about _your_ part?" Ed studied him judgingly. 

"Sam… what are you playing at?" Ed interrogated suspiciously. 

"I'm not playing at anything," Sam returned in a convincing voice. "I'm just saying…" Ed listened curiously. "Nothing you've done so far has exactly… _worked."_

"Oh, here we go." Ed rolled his eyes.

"What?" Sam questioned with sincerity.

"Last night, the little fit you threw, you seriously need to control yourself."

"Control my-" now Sam actually was mad. "You bring us to this stupid house, drug my brother with pie, and blame _me_ when it all goes terribly wrong?"

"Hey, you're the one who blew it last night!" 

"Blew it? While you were prancing around after cat toys, I was the one dealing with Dean's Jack Kerouacesque tale of ice cream woes!" 

"Dealing?" Ed shouted, really losing it. "First of all, you've dealt with_nothing_ since the moment I met you, and second, that wasn't me you yelled at last night! When you assumed I was Batty, you assumed wrong!"

"What?"

"That's right!" Ed bellowed. "You yelled at an innocent kitten!" 

"Well how the hell was I supposed to know?" Sam exclaimed, thrown and slightly mortified by the news he had poured his heart out to an actual kitten. "When I asked the damn thing if it was you, it said 'meow'!" 

"It's a fucking kitten Sam, what else would it say!"

They stood in brief silence.

"Shit," Sam blurted pissily. "Well you suck!"

"Oh, that's mature!"

"You want mature?" Sam challenged. "Instead of blaming me, why don't you quit bitching, and learn how to do your job!" 

WHAP!

The punch came hard and fast to his jaw and before Sam realized exactly what had happened, his head took a knock into the dirt. 

_Okay, that worked well_, he thought groggily. Ed grabbed hold of him immediately, and as Sam struggled to move, he felt his arms being tugged and bound behind his back. _Okay, worked a little too well,_ he lamented, realizing his plan could have been a bit better thought out. 

Ed was clearly pissed. He wrapped the sturdy cord around Sam's wrists several times and knotted it off, then grabbed Sam and tossed him over onto his back. Sam felt the bulk of his entwined wrists press into his spine. The awkward placement threw his torso back at an angle, making it all the more difficult to sit up. He squirmed in the dirt like a worm baking in the sun, as Ed straddled his legs and continued to pull things out of his pockets. 

"Ed, I'm sorry," Sam mumbled, his jaw killing him.

"No you're not," Ed returned pointedly, "but I'll make sure you get there." Sam tensed; that he didn't like the sound of. Ed might have become his friend, but he was still a demon who exhibited questionable methods of getting things done. Sam allowed himself to panic. 

"Ed, stop!" He squinted into the sun, as he deciphered that Ed was bundling a small lace doily up in his fist. "What are you doing?"

"Teaching you a lesson," Ed said. 

"With a doily?" Sam asked skeptically. Ed paused; Sam's cynical tone was clearly the last straw. He grabbed Sam's face, and shoved the doily into his mouth. Sam choked; the tough knotted lace was thick and dry, and filled his mouth in a thoroughly uncomfortable way. He screamed through it, not so mutedly, and attempted to spit it back out as Ed continued to shove it in with a smile. 

"Who's the wise ass now, huh Sam?" 

"Boys!" Both Sam and Ed jumped, completely startled as they looked over to find Hildy standing by her car. Sam relaxed into relief at the tensed expression on Ed's face. Ed exhaled and put on one of Dean's most charming smiles. 

"Yes M'am?" He called winningly. 

"Listen," She shouted back, "I'm glad you broke down and started showing your affection in public, and I'm down with the whole gay thing, but if you want to express your love through S&M you'll have to take it to your room." Ed flashed Dean's smile sinisterly at Sam, then turned back to Hildy.

"Yes M'am!" He shouted giddily. "No problem, M'am! Just as soon as I finish tying him up!"

"Well..." she considered for a moment. "Okay then, but try and tie him up quickly please." 

"Not a problem. Thanks for the suggestion!" Ed returned, and with that, Hildy smiled and got into her car. Ed turned back to Sam with a broad, satisfied grin. "HA!" He gloated. "Never underestimate the power of your brother's smile!" 

Sam screamed with full panic into the doily and focused all efforts on spitting it out. 

As Hildy pulled her car through the lot, both men glanced up. She stopped just in front of them, and hung out her window. 

"I'll be in town for the rest of the day, but I thought I'd make you boys dinner."

"Really?" Ed said, genuinely excited. 

"An old woman's gotta cook. What'd you want?" 

"Wow…" Ed stopped and considered it, but all the screaming was making it difficult to think. He stretched a hand down and clasped it over Sam's mouth. "Um… let's see… is pot roast too much to ask for?"

"You want potatoes with that?"

"Yeah!" Ed blurted eagerly. 

"Okay," she said pulling away, "see you later!" 

"Bye!" Ed called cheerfully as the car pulled down the road. As it made the turn into the trees, Ed looked down and returned his focus to Sam. "You're killin' me here, Sam… seriously." Sam screamed into Ed's hand. "Now, about that lesson." 

Ed removed his hand and grabbed a bandana he had tossed onto Sam's chest. He gripped the ends and twisted it slightly, then went for Sam's mouth. Sam struggled, unable to get away, unable to spit out the damn damp doily. He screamed and tugged as Ed shoved the center of the cloth harshly between his lips, and worked it furiously until it was wedged tight between his teeth. Ed's hands yanked behind Sam's head and tautly fastened the ends. When Ed let go, Sam lolled his head upright in the dirt, and stared hurtfully up at him. "Don't look at me like that," Ed stated in a moment of weakness. "This might sound cliché, but you did this to yourself." 

Sam choked and whimpered into the gag, although he was now fairly difficult to hear, Ed had to work to tune him out. "Seriously, don't feed me those eyes," he shifted coldly. "I'm not changing my mind." Ed stood and pulled Sam to his feet. "Come on." He lifted Sam, who struggled to run the moment his feet were flat on the ground. It didn't last; Ed grabbed him by the chest, and dragged him to the back of the Impala. He felt through Sam's pockets until he located the keys, then pulling them out, unlocked the trunk and popped it open. He inspected inside, there was just enough room. He pulled at Sam, who again began to fight as he realized Ed's intent. It was no use. Ed shoved Sam backward into the trunk. He tucked Sam's head in and held it against the piles of stuff, while he used his other hand to heave Sam's struggling legs into the other end. 

Once Sam was fully in place Ed stepped back. He held Sam's chest down with one hand, and propped the trunk open with the other. 

"Look," Ed said, gazing at the kid regretfully. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to do this, I was, but this attitude of yours, it's gotta stop." Ed suppressed any remorse and instead let irritation set his final tone. "Good luck explaining your way out of this one."

Sam screamed an emotional, inaudible 'no' into the gag as Ed slammed the trunk shut, locking him in total darkness, building heat, and the horribly panicked confines of his mind.

* * *

That's all for tonight. 

This chapter has some of my favorite stuff- maybe because of Pancake Head- maybe because Sam lands himself bound and gaged in the trunk- but I'd love to hear from you guys and I'd love to hit 300 reviews with this chapter. Call me greedy - _or normal_ -whichever -ha!

Thanks for reading!

-Kate

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

Hey yet again-

So here is the 4th chapter for this segment.

I'm working on the rest and apologize in advance for however long it takes to finish writing and start posting the end. But - believe it or not- we are nearing the end.

**I can't say it enough:**

Thanks for all the reviews (it really helps to know you're out there)

Thanks to everyone who just started reading and who clicked the favs and alerts

And especially

Thanks to all who returned to this story after such a long down time.

I hope to see you all for the final chapters,

but until then…

* * *

**Energies and Ice Cream**

**CH 12**

Dean pulled out his sunglasses as he approached the end of the tree-shaded dirt road. He turned the corner in full stride, reached the flipped open shades towards his face, then stopped.

_Why the hell is the Impala still in front of the house? _He questioned.

Dean sighed with slight exasperation at his brother's ass-dragging. He shoved on his glasses, and as he continued through the lot, pulled out his phone. _Two-twelve,_ Dean read the time on the LCD screen. _Damn it, Sammy, _he bitched_, you shoulda been outta here by now. _Dean shook his head as he walked past the Impala, then something caught his eye. He stopped dead, bent down, and picked up the keys, _his keys,_ from the ground. _Okay, that's not right,_ he registered with a twinge of concern.

Dean stood up and pulled off his sunglasses. He rubbed the hot sweat from the back of his neck as he scanned the area: there was nothing else out of the ordinary. _Fuck._

"Sam!" He shouted not really ready to go through this routine again. "Sammy!" There was nothing, no answer, no movement, and so he shoved the keys into his pocket and headed into the house.

He bolted up the stairs to their room, half expecting to find Sam, but when he entered, he was alone. He stepped out onto the balcony and checked the yard: no Sam. Without even looking down he dialed and brought the phone to his ear; it rang eight times and then jumped to voicemail. He hung up. "Where are you?" he whispered under his breath. As he began to head down the deck stairs, it hit him: the game room. Dean picked up his pace as he hoofed down the two flights, past the hot tub and into the game room. Empty. "Fuck!" Dean slammed his fist onto the bar.

That was it, his last normal place to look. At this point he could search the remainder of the house, and the property, but if Sam wasn't in the places he'd just checked, odds were, he had gotten himself into more trouble. Dean dialed again and let it ring. He held it to his ear as he walked up into the house and out the front door. As he stepped onto the porch the machine came on again. He slammed the phone shut and walked down to where he had found the keys.

He had no leads, no options, and most of all no Sammy. Frustrated as hell he kicked the dirt, then turned and sat against the trunk of the Impala.

"Damn it! Why the hell did I walk?" Dean yelled at himself. _You should have stayed with him, _he scorned._ You shouldn't have even agreed to let him take the car on his own. _ "Damn it!" Dean kicked the tire and slammed his fist into the hood of the trunk. "SAM!!" He hollered harshly, then out of pure desperation he pulled out his phone and hit redial. He held it to his ear for a total of three rings, then shook his head and dropped the hand to his side. He stood listening to it ring from a distance, then realized on the second to last ring that he was hearing double. The message kicked in and all ringing stopped.

Dean scanned the area. _What the hell was I hearing?_ He hung up on the voice mail and dialed again. This time he kept the phone away from his face_. What the fuck is that?_ He thought, listening to the echo. He covered his phone and zoned in on the second sound. It was right in front of him; Dean pressed his ear to the trunk of his car.

"Holy fuck", he blurted as he reached into his pocket and swapped the phone for his keys.

Dean opened the trunk and stared numbly at its contents. Dead or unconscious, it was really too early to be sure of which, Sam lay awkwardly wedged between the bags of guns and rock salt. One arm was pinned beneath him, the other outstretched and still grasping the lower part of the trunk lock. He was coated in sweat, his shirt soaked through, his bangs wet and matted against his face, a longer lock stretched and stuck into his hung open mouth. Dean stood as motionless as his brother, admittedly afraid of the next step.

"Sam?" He squeaked out nervously. Expecting nothing in response except possibly a rank stench, he was pretty much thrown when his brother opened his eyes, and stared groggily up at him. "Sammy?" He repeated in the same anxious tone.

"Pancake head?" Sam croaked weakly.

Dean rolled his eyes in relief and exasperation as he snapped out of his fear coma. He leaned into the trunk and grabbed hold of his brother, whose eyes were again shut. Dean moved a hand to Sam's face and slapped lightly.

"Sam… Sammy come on." Sam re-opened his eyes and stared at his brother in total over-heated delirium.

"Dean?" His voice rasped uncertainly. "It's like… _you_, right?"

"What?" Dean blurted. "No," he made light with sarcasm, "it's someone else who looks as good as me."

"No… no… it's you," Sam replied barely audible. "I can tell from the tone of your sarcasm. Sam smiled and patted his brother's face as he slipped back toward unconsciousness.

"Sam!" Dean said with a harsh shake. "Come on, get up!" Dean began to pull the dead weight of his brother from the trunk.

"Wait… hot… stuck…" Sam moaned dry mouthed.

"I know. That's why you gotta get outta here."

"Kay."

"How the hell did you get in here anyway?"

"It wasn't easy," Sam mumbled. Dean scoffed at the response, gave him a harsh tug and heaved his upper body out of the trunk. He leaned Sam against his chest as he attempted to un-wedge his brother's lanky legs from where they were stuck under the tire iron. As Dean tugged, Sam teetered and made to move back inside. "Wait… phone…" Sam tilted and let his weight take him.

"What?" Dean questioned, half distracted, then… "Sam!" Dean grabbed him just before he slammed face first onto a bag of rock salt. "Come on, Sam," he said lifting his kid brother. "We're leaving the trunk."

"Phone… phone…" Sam mumbled as Dean pulled him fully out.

"It's in your pocket, Sam," Dean assured him, hoping to gain some cooperation.

"But they called," Sam explained groggily.

"It's okay Sam."

"But they were… _ring_… and I was… _hello? _And they were… _rrr-ing…_ and I was… _helll-ooo.._." Sam twisted and struggled in search of his phone.

"Stop fighting me," Dean complained as his brother's slimy, sweat coated body slipped though his hands.

"Where is it? _Rrrr-ing…_" Sam called to his phone.

"Sam, could you-"

"_Rrrr-ing…_" He called to it again.

"Aw Christ!" Dean gripped and re-gripped his slippery brother as he simultaneously stretched to close the trunk.

"Why won't it answer me? _Rrrr-ing?_" Sam called sadly. Dean eyed his brother's weirdness.

"You're fucking delirious with heat stroke! How long were you locked in there?"

"Where-- what time is it?"

"Like, twenty after two."

"Um… 'bout three days," Sam concluded.

"Errr…" Dean grumbled. "Whatever. Just help me out and hold still for a second."

"Word," Sam agreed. Dean shook his head and again stretched for the trunk. He almost had it shut when Sam shifted, his fingers slipped, and the damn thing popped back open.

"Fuck Sam! I said hold still!"

"And I bet it was great-- _Rrrr-ing…"_ Sam digressed.

"Screw it!" Dean gave up on the trunk and instead got a solid grasp on his brother. He pulled Sam's right arm over his shoulder and began dragging him toward the house.

"_Rrrr-ing…_" Sam persisted. _"Rrrr-ing…" _

"Sam, would you stop calling to your phone, it obviously doesn't wanna talk to you!" Dean bitched before he realized what he was saying.

"But… how am I supposed to know who called?"

"I called!" Dean blurted as he hauled his brother's lank body up onto the porch and into the house.

"But…" Sam's head lolled as he began to faint.

"Hey! Stay awake!" Dean shook him. "I'll never get you up these stairs if you pass out on me."

"I bet you say that to all the ladies…"

"Shut up," Dean grumbled as he readjusted his grip and started them moving.

"So… wait," Sam deduced. "_You_ called me?"

"Yeah, it was me Sam, try to focus here." Dean kept them going one step at a time.

"But," Sam inquired, "what'd you want?"

"Huh?"

"Why'd you call?"

"Because I was looking for you, Sam."

"Oh…" Sam drifted off into thought.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Dean turned them around the corner and made for their room.

"Dean?" Sam stopped walking. When his brother kept moving, Sam tried again. "Dean!" He hollered gruffly as he used his dead weight to bring his brother to a halt.

"Sam what?!"

"Did..." Sam began with dire concern, "did you find me?"

Dean stared at him blankly.

"No Sam, I didn't," he responded in complete seriousness.

"That… that's terrible," Sam replied just as serious.

"Yeah well, don't worry," Dean comforted, "I have a pretty good idea where to look."

"Okay." Sam breathed with relief. "Well, when you do find me… could you tell me Dean called?"

"Sure thing, bro."

"Cool." And with that, Sam gave his brother a double-thumbs up, and immediately toppled backward into blackness.

* * *

One minute later Sam was waking up to the wet slap of a damp towel on his face. He shoved it off and began to sit up.

"Whoa there hot stuff!" His brother's voice came as a hand shoved him back down. "I'm done lifting you for the day, stay where you are." Sam rolled his head on the pillow. The room felt cool, but he was still hot. He mindlessly reached down and attempted to pull off his shirt, but as it snagged his head, it tangled with the towel and bound Sam's arms and face in an unmanageable mess.

"Help," Sam pleaded from inside his head tent.

Dean rolled his eyes in disbelief.

"Hold still," he said as he grabbed the shirt and shook Sam out of it. He tossed the sweaty tee onto the other bed and sat down in the hanging chair. "So how ya feelin' there champ?"

"ERghhhhhhh….."

"Yeah… sounds about right." Dean kicked back and put his feet up on the end table. "You might want to put that towel back on your head."

"I'm fine Dean," Sam groaned just before bursting into a short coughing fit. Dean motioned toward a glass of water he had set on the end table.

"Yeah, yeah, you seem fine," he patronized, as Sam downed the water.

"I am… I will… I…" Sam gave in and pulled the towel over his head, if nothing else it blocked Dean's condescending headshake. "What 'err you doin' back anyway?" Sam grumbled weakly. "Thought I was meetin' you in town."

"Yeah well, it's fucked up. I got all the way there and my wallet was empty."

"What?" Sam leaned up and opened one of his eyes; the towel was draped over the other.

"Yeah… nothing- no money, no credit cards, all I had was a pile of receipts, and a condom."

"How the hell-?"

"I don't know man, but have you ever tried to pay for coffee with a condom? Doesn't go over so well." Sam just stared, the comment too much for his current delirium. Dean continued to think it out. "I mean, I didn't check it this morning, I just grabbed it and left, but what the fuck is beyond me- it was all back here on the damn dresser."

"What?" Sam questioned. Dean pointed to the end table by the other bed, the one he'd slept in.

"I don't fuckin' know. I noticed it when I was dragging your ass to the bed." Dean shook his head, confounded. "Maybe when I was drunk…?" Sam eyed the pile of money and cards on the end table, fairly sure it hadn't been there that morning. He flopped back down on his pillow without saying word.

Dean dropped his feet to the floor and leaned toward the bed. He stared at his younger brother until Sam felt it and looked up.

"What?" Sam questioned guardedly.

"What?!" Dean repeated in disbelief. "Are you kidding? Sam… I just pulled you from the trunk of my car!"

"Oh… that," Sam replied lamely. Dean broke into a fed up laugh.

"Yeah, _that_ Sam." Dean pulled the towel off Sam's face. "Sit up."

"Ya jus' told me ta lie down," Sam slurred.

"You never care what I tell you, why should I?"

"O-kay."

Unable to argue Dean's logic, Sam shakily propped himself up. He was feeling a bit better, but somehow his thoughts weren't exactly making sense yet.

"What happened?" Dean questioned bluntly. Sam stared vacantly.

_Uhhhh,_ he thought, then drew a blank. He wasn't ready for simple questions like 'how does your head feel?' and 'do you need to take a leak?' So given what would potentially be an elaborately fabricated explanation as to how he had ended up taking a Mafioso style nap in the trunk of the Impala was pretty much out of the question. That is, if Dean would _let it_ be out of the question.

"Sam, I want you to tell me what--"

"I don't feel good," Sam said honestly. Dean looked him over: he was pale and sweat coated, trembling wearily, and seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes focused. He wasn't lying, Dean didn't question that, but if Sam got time to recover, he would also get time to think, and that meant time to craft a viable lie of what had happened.

"Okay, just tell me how you got in there and then you can rest," Dean bargained.

"Shit Dean," Sam said with a raspy exhale. "I- I can't do this now." He shook his head and fell back onto the bed, cringing as the inside of his skull throbbed from the movement.

"It's a simple question Sam," Dean said patiently, "simple if you tell me the truth." Sam rolled over and shoved his face into the pillow.

"Just leave me alone," he mumbled mutedly.

"Just tell me what happened."

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"You _never_ want to talk about it," Dean persisted. He stared at his brother, intent on getting through. "Sam seriously, if you don't talk to me, I can't help you."

"I don't need your help, Dean," he blurted into the pillow.

"Okay, I get it. So… you didn't need my help when you were bound and bleeding in the back of that convenience store?" Sam squeezed his eyes shut and pushed the words away. "Or when you were unconscious and inhaling exhaust fumes from the floor of the Impala?" Sam clinched his fists into the fabric of the bed sheets. "Or today, if I hadn't come back… if I hadn't found you just now?"

Sam shook with resistance. _I can't do this,_ he thought heatedly. _I can't. _He pushed away from the pillow, and sat up intent on disengaging himself from his brother's verbal grip. He'd have a total of three anger induced, lucid seconds, before the head rush and general disorientation returned, but at the end of those three seconds, so help him, this conversation would be over.

"Listen," Sam began, using up the first of his three seconds. That was all that came out. Dean was staring at him, but not with the anger and short patience he had expected; all Sam saw in his older brother's eyes was concern. Completely caught off guard, he wavered. "I- I uh…"

"What?" Dean urged. "Sam just tell me."

Sam shut his eyes as the unanticipated emotions welled up in him. He wanted so much to break, to tell Dean everything. It was all right there, caught in his throat like a fucking dam. _Tell him,_ Sam felt the push. _Just… tell him..._ He pushed it back. _Don't! He'll be pissed… he'll hate you._

"I um… that is a…" Sam staggered. _Tell him something._ He panicked. _Tell him anything..._ "The trunk was open," Sam fabricated abruptly, "when uh… when I got there." Dean studied him skeptically.

"Okay," he accepted. "Go on." Sam waded into his lie.

"So uh… I went to check it out… and… and…"

"And…"

"And nothing. There was nothing, so I went to shut it, but… it wouldn't shut… um, something was caught in the back hinge, so I reached for it, and when I couldn't reach I… uh… uh…" Sam searched. "Um… er…" Unfortunately, his three clear-headed seconds were up. "I climbed in."

Dean shook his head as if to jostle the words into a new meaning.

"You climbed in," he repeated.

"Yeah."

"Into the trunk."

"Uh huh."

"As in _all_ the way?"

"Yes," Sam insisted feverishly. Dean exhaled and brought a hand to his eyes.

"'Cause that's every day behavior for a 6'4" Sasquatch," he grumbled under his breath. "Fine," Dean blew it off, "go on."

"Uhhh…" Sam had sort of forgotten about the 'go on' part. _Fuck._ "Uhhh…"

"Yeah, you said that already."

"I know… I just… I was in there and… and then it closed."

"By itself?"

"No?" Sam questioned skeptically.

"Are you asking me Sam? Cause that sounded like a question."

"No. I just uh… I mean… I'm not sure, but…" Sam struggled. "I think um… uh…"

"Yeah Sam," Dean urged, his patience blown. Sam scanned the area for anything that would help, his eyes caught site of the twin painted silos deep in the distance of the farm. _Aw fuck it,_ he resigned. "It was a cat. A cat shut me inside the trunk." Sam concluded with lack of conviction. "Yeah…"

Dean stared at him blankly for a very… very… long time.

Finally, he responded.

"A cat… _pushed you_ into the trunk of the Impala," Dean repeated for verification.

"Well… it didn't exactly _push me,"_ Sam backpedaled.

"No, no, that would be ridiculous," Dean scoffed. "Did you actually _see_ the cat, Sam?"

"Not really…"

"Then what makes you think it was a cat?"

"I uh," Sam shrugged, "heard its paws?"

"Right," Dean confirmed deadpan. "Of course." He'd had enough. "Okay, so we're looking for a covert cat with super trunk slammin' abilities? Is that right?"

"Uh…?" Sam gaped.

"Or did it have flat out super powers, ya know… like Thundercats? What do you think Sam? Should we bring Lion-O in for questioning?"

"I… uh…" Sam looked at him with serious indecision. "Well, Mumm-Ra was the evil one, Lion-O was the good guy."

"Right, so scratch Lion-O," he noted, mock serious.

Dean shook his head; this was going nowhere. "Alright, forget this for now. You were right; you obviously don't feel well. Lie down, we'll talk later."

"But I'm telling you." Sam persisted deliriously.

"Forget it, Sam."

"But… but…" he sought, feeling a need to reinforce his lie. "Rambo!" Sam grasped onto his crazed revelation. "He's evil! He hates me!"

"Hildy's fat fur ball of a cat? Sammy- Sam, just forget it."

"But… but it makes sense! The four cats that died, they were trapped inside things! It's his MO Dean! He killed those cats! I'm serious!"

"I know you're serious, that's why you _need_ to lie down."

"No, really Dean! Really!"

"Okay Sam, fine, it was Rambo. Now calm down." Dean shoved his brother onto the pillow, and, hoping he had put the topic to rest, headed for the door.

"Where-- where you going?" Sam questioned, slightly panicked.

"To close the trunk before somebody sees what we're packing."

"I'm coming with you." Sam woozily tried to push himself up.

"What? No," Dean turned and shoved his brother back down.

"But Rambo…" Sam mumbled feverishly, "what if he comes back?"

"I think I can take him."

"But- but-- he's dangerous…"

"Sam-"

"He is!"

"Sammy just-" Dean sighed with his usual big brother exasperation. "Stay here, and _don't_ get up." Sam flopped his head onto the pillow in defeat.

"It was Rambo," he muttered to himself. "He's a killing machine… he's a killing machine…"

Dean glanced back at the comment, pinched the bridge of his nose, and left. Sam watched groggily as his brother turned the corner and headed down the stairs.

"A cat Sam?" Dean's voice came from behind him. Sam turned to find Dean sitting in the hanging chair with his feet up on the end table. At first he did a double take, then shook off the heat stroke for a moment and put two and two together.

"Ed?" He questioned wearily.

"No, it's someone else who looks as good as your brother," Ed responded smartly. Sam held his head and flopped back onto the bed with a wince.

"_Ouch--_ do you rehearse Dean's sarcasm, or are you _both_ annoyingly witty?" Sam groaned.

"No rehearsal, I'm a naturally sardonic sort of guy… _well,_ demon." Ed twinkled one of Dean's smiles at him. Sam cringed with lack of amusement.

"Do you have to look like him?" Sam complained. "Somehow it just makes this worse- as if it could get worse."

"Right," Ed conceded, "personally, I think you just like seeing yourself in a goatee." Sam glanced back over. Ed sat reclined in the chair, already camouflaged as the younger Winchester, musingly stroking his goatee. Sam cracked a pained smile.

"How--" Sam paused to cough. "How is it you look like me, yet somehow, better looking?"

"It's my internal glow," Ed played, "I can't shut it off. And… _duh…_ the goatee." Sam cracked up, winced at the pain that shot through his head, and stretched an arm over his eyes. "So," Ed segued, "what was I saying? Oh yeah, a cat Sam?"

"Huh?" Sam questioned groggily.

"A cat-- _pushed you_ into the trunk of the Impala."

"Funny… you look like me, but you still _sound_ like Dean."

"Can you blame me?" Ed argued.

"Hey, it's not totally insane," Sam returned. "I mean, we're talking Rambo here, he's a--"

"Killing machine. Yeah, I caught that." Ed sat up into the same interrogating position Dean had been in and stared Sam down. "You really will do whatever it takes to avoid talking to him, won't you?"

"I guess," he replied quietly.

"Yeah." As Ed's labored tone silenced the room, he turned and stared off pensively. When Sam groaned, he glanced over. Sam was flat on his back, arms strewn slightly above his head, damp towel again covering his face. "You okay?" He asked concerned. After a moment, Sam tugged the towel away. He was still super pale, and his head hurt like hell, but the delirium seemed to be passing. He shook off his shakiness, blew off Ed's question, and cut to what was bothering him.

"You didn't have to do that ya know, stick me in there. It's not like I was tryin' to piss you off," he said, his hurt prevalent.

"Actually… you sounded _exactly_ like you were trying to piss me off," Ed accused. Sam rolled over, away from Ed. "Sam, I know you don't always understand my actions, but I really am trying to help you." Sam rolled back over.

"I know," he said solemnly.

"Then why do you keep fighting me?"

"I'm not; at least, I didn't think I was."

"Then what _was_ that down there?" Sam shrugged, trying to blow it off. "Look, I get it," Ed empathized, "I do. I may not be human, but I understand how resistant they can be to change, even when they_ want _to change. This thing with your brother, it's not gonna go away on its own; you've gotta work to make it happen." Sam nodded lightly. "If you can do that, Sam I promise, this problem that seems so impossible, will be gone."

"Yeah," Sam looked up heavily, "and then you're as good as gone."

Ed tensed, completely caught off guard. It was then he realized exactly why Sam had taken such a shift in the yard.

"Aww kid," he muttered. "Is _that_ what you thought you were doing down there? Stopping me from leaving?" Sam looked up in faint acknowledgement. Ed reached forward and placed a hand on his shoulder; he exhaled heavily. "Sam… this can't be about that," he said firmly. "It can't."

"I know." Sam's voice was tense with acceptance.

"It's not that I want to leave," he admitted, "but at some point..."

"I get it." Sam smiled awkwardly. "I do," he stiffened his lip in a need to move on. "So what happens now?"

"Well," Ed began, unsure where to start. "Now that we're actually together on this, why don't we go over what hasn't worked."

Dean stood on the porch staring out at the open trunk of the Impala.

_Why the hell would he get in there? _ Baffled, he blew off reason and scanned the larger area of the yard, then walked down the steps and out in front of the house. He turned around and eyed the porch roof, then bent down and checked under the Impala. There was nothing. Dean stood up, shaking his head.

"A cat… _pushed him_ into the trunk." Dean laughed dryly; he was so desperate, he had actually searched for Sam's killer cat. "Asshole," he mocked himself. Dean walked to the end of his car and placed his hands up onto the hot black metal of the trunk. As he began to press it shut a soft breeze brushed through the flowered weeds, and up over the Impala. He stopped mid-motion. Dean lightened his grip on the trunk and let it pop back open. He stared blankly inside unsure of what he was waiting on. Shaking the odd feeling off he refocused into the moment; almost immediately something caught his eye.

Dean reached down and picked up the small lace doily. Now they had a lot of weird and varied crap inside this trunk, but pineapple crochet doilies were just not on that list. Matted and sort of nasty, Dean couldn't figure what the hell it was doing there. He furthered his investigation by inspected the bag which was dead in front of him. It was open and had the end of a sawed off shotgun sticking out of it; next to it was a coiled looping of knotted rope. He scanned the rest of the trunk; off to one side there was a similarly knotted bandana. He picked both items up. The rope was roughly shredded and severed in one spot, the bandana was damp, with the center section crushed and stiff and slightly stained. Dean rubbed his thumb against the jagged end of the shotgun; rope fibers were snagged in the metal. _Sam's wrists were tied, _Dean realized abruptly_, and he was gagged. _

His expression darkened.

"He didn't get in; he was _put_ in." Dean slammed the trunk shut. "Damn it! There's nobody out here but us; who the hell is he covering for?" Dean walked back to the porch and sat down on the steps. It had never occurred to him that someone might have forced Sam into the trunk, simply because to the best of his knowledge, there was nobody around strong enough to do so. _Who the hell put him in there? _ Dean pressed a tense fist against his lips._ And what the fuck am I gonna do about it? _

"I don't know." Ed paced the room while Sam sat on the bed and watched. "It's not like I've been messing around here. I mean… I started this thing by shooting you, that was pretty intense and should have worked." Ed sighed. "I swear it only made things worse." Upon his statement Ed looked to Sam. The answer was right in front of him; he just needed to clear away whatever was blocking it. "Sam, why did you lie to your brother that night?" Sam looked over slowly, the question catching him off guard.

"What do you mean? What night?"

"_That_ night," Ed stressed. "The _first_ night… when I shot you."

"Oh… uh…" Sam's eye line veered, and Ed cocked his head at Sam's consistent resistance.

"Sam, come on, the phone call," he said harshly. "You thought you were bleeding to death, yet you hung up on Dean just to spite him." Sam didn't respond; it was a little hard to when Ed was dead on right. "Seriously," Ed pushed, "what were you thinking?"

"He was being a jerk," Sam gave in. "I needed him and I couldn't even get him to listen to me."

"So… you punished him," Ed concluded.

"I didn't-- he wouldn't listen." Sam rubbed his forehead and pressed wearily through the heat exhaustion. "He didn't give a shit and--"

"Sam, he came after you anyway, and maybe he wouldn't listen on the phone, but when he was with you he asked straight out when you'd been shot and you just dug your hole deeper. I get that you're scared, but couldn't you see he was worried about you?"

"Worried?" Sam scoffed. "Dean was never worried! He was a stubborn pain in my ass, pushing his big brother bullshit on-- screw this Ed!" Sam changed gears. "Why does it matter?! Nothing's gonna change! Dean is _never_ going to change! Our task is hopeless! I could make that wish a thousand times for the rest of my life but Dean will always be Dean!"

Ed froze as his expression took a serious shift.

"What did you just say?" He questioned crucially.

"Dean- Dean will never change," Sam repeated. "Never."

Ed absorbed the reiteration and fell a little closer toward feeling human.

"Shit," he muttered in a quiet breath. He brushed a hand into his hair and stood entrenched in thought.

"What?" Sam questioned, troubled by the abrupt mood swing. "What is it?"

"I--" Ed looked at him briefly. "I have to go," he deflected gravely.

"Go where?" Sam asked, utterly stunned. Without hesitation, Ed turned and took off straight into the bathroom. Sam pushed from the bed and rushed after him. "Ed wait!"

Sam bolted into the bathroom and came to a halt. He glanced at the half-sized window and tore back the shower curtain. The room was empty; Ed was gone.

"Shit!" Sam cursed as he punched the curtain away with the back of his first. Regret came fast and he instead grabbed for the curtain in total panic. "Shit…" Sam blurted queasily. The abrupt movement had come to claim its toll; a head rush shot up Sam's body. In a shadowed haze he grasped the curtain tight into his fist; in darkness he heard the plastic pop as it was torn from the pole.

Dean gripped the objects he had found firm in his fist; he was going to get to the bottom of this. He moved up the stairs taking two steps at a time, turned the corner to their room, and before even entering it sighted that Sam was no longer on the bed. His stride slowed… then quickened. Dean burst into the room, scanned from wall to wall, and immediately located his brother. "Damn it, Sam! You never listen to me!"

Dean tossed the items in his hand aside and carefully stepped over his brother's unconscious body as he made his way into the bathroom. "Sammy," he bemoaned with a headshake. Sam lay with his hips and legs twisted on their side, and his upper body flat out on its back. One arm was contorted beneath him and the other was strewn across his bare chest, hand still caught in the half hanging shower curtain. Dean unhooked Sam's fingers from the twisted plastic. He tossed the curtain angrily into the tub, and then looked down at his brother. "Sam," he called, turning his brother's face toward him. "Sammy." He got no response. Dean checked the back of his brother's head, but luckily the Pink Floyd bathroom consisted of a heavy shag rug atop of its cold tile floor. Assuming the shag and shower curtain had broken most of his brother's fall, Dean forced himself to the next step: moving him.

"Come on big boy." Dean slid a hand behind Sam's neck and pulled him up and against his chest. He snaked his left hand under Sam's arm and around his back, got a good hold on him, then stopped to evaluate the situation. "Hmm... fuck," he said bluntly. He roughly weighed the bulk of Sam's body, then judged the distance to the bed. "I can make it," he decided confidently. Dean shifted into a squatting position as he simultaneously reached out and scooped up his brother's legs. He gave himself until the mental count of three, and then heaved Sam up off the ground. _With your legs - with your legs - with your legs,_ he painfully reminded himself how to lift. Dean let out a loud grunt as he forced himself up the last couple of inches. "Damn I hate you right now," he blurted agonizingly through gritted teeth. He gradually made his way to the bed annoyed at how much heavier Sam felt when carried this way. As he closed in on his finish line he began to notice he was losing latitude. "Crap- crap- crap!" Dean hastened his final steps and lunged forward at the last moment, successfully landing his sibling on the bed with a bounce.

Dean, however, found himself sprawled across the floor, arms pinned beneath the weight of his brother. He tugged them free with much difficulty, then climbed up and sat on the bed.

"How is it you're such a gigantic Sasquatch, and yet… still my_ little _brother?" He reached out and brushed the bangs away from Sam's eyes. Almost immediately Sam tensed and let out a small groan.

"Don't… don't…" Sam pleaded unconsciously. Dean retracted his hand and listened as Sam didn't wake, but continued to mutter restlessly. "Don't leave… Ed… don't--" Sam trailed off into a worried whimper. Dean tensed with jealousy as that name again came into play. Whoever this guy was, this_ Ed,_ he was responsible; he was the one coming between them.

Dean absorbed his sibling's troubled tossing, and the fact that Sam's stubborn bangs had already managed to shift right back to where they started. He outstretched his hand, ready to again shove them aside, but was abruptly halted. Someone was knocking on their room door, which, oddly, he didn't remember closing. Dean glanced briefly at his brother, then walked to the door and opened it.

In the hall stood a guy roughly Sam's height, likely late twenties, and if he were described as having roughed good looks, it would be an understatement. He was moderately muscular with broad shoulders that hugged tight against the fabric of a thin, fitted t-shirt. His hands were casually stuck into his front jeans pockets, but as he knew he was being evaluated, he deliberately brought a hand up and brushed it through his hair. Light brown with blond streaks and dark roots; it was kept short with some length at the top. He swept it up and off to one side, and as he pulled his hand away, a single lock dropped down to dangle just shy of his left eye. Bright grey and mysterious, his eyes emoted a pensive draw; square jawed with a scruffy goatee, his mouth was curved into an expression that somehow disclosed a buried confidence.

Dean immediately distrusted anybody who could pull off being this good looking. And knowing for a fact they were the only guests in the house, he eyed the stranger warily.

"Can I help you?" He asked in a way that sounded more like a threat.

"I think so," the stranger said assuredly. "I'm Ed."

"You- _you're_ Ed?" Dean reiterated, enraged. Ed nodded lightly and in less then a second found himself grabbed and shoved up against the doorframe. "Who the hell are you and what's your connection with Sam?" Dean interrogated.

Ed didn't do a thing; he didn't say a thing. He merely stared Dean down with sympathetic eyes. Dean glanced away and over at his brother who was still lying in troubled unconsciousness. He turned back to Ed and slowly released him.

"This isn't your fault," Dean begrudgingly concluded. "Is it?"

"No." Ed confessed, "but it is my job."

"Job," Dean remarked doubtfully.

"Yeah." Ed drifted as he cast a concerned eye towards Sam; Dean edged protectively between them. Taking note, Ed cracked a dry laugh and returned his focus to Dean. "Look, you're not gonna like this, but," he crossed his arms sternly, "we need to talk."

* * *

_dum dum dum!_ Well I don't really know if it's _that_ sort of moment, but whatever it is...  
it's to be concluded. ;)

Thanks everyone  
catch you again soon,

Kate


	13. Chapter 13

Hey =)

So to say it's been a long time would be an outrageous understatement. But if you're reading this, then you've returned to the story and for that I have to say: 'thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!'

Moving forward:

There is no recap. Sorry. Hopefully you've had time to skim through it recently, or maybe you just have a kick ass memory. Either way, you should be fine.

I need to quickly thank my beta, Kaewi, for sticking with me and for always making the time to edit EIC. You Rock!

A note to those who helped =)  
I have to say this story has been a crazy long journey. I just went back and read some of the reviews and was reminded of how much encouragement I got to continue with it both while I was posting and during the down times. Whenever I seemed stuck, a single review would come in kicking my ass into gear to get it finished, and I honestly am sitting here now finding it a little hard to believe that I've actually reached that point!

So, on that note-  
Here ya go, the first of the final four...

* * *

**Energies and Ice Cream**

**CH 13**

The room was cold. He could feel it even before he opened his eyes. It was cold and it shouldn't have been. Hot summer days and warm summer nights, that's what Sam groggily remembered as his senses came to awareness in the upstairs bedroom of the B&B. A breeze passed over him and he opened his eyes and nudged up. The sliding door was wide open and the lighting was cool and relaxed with late day sun. He glanced down; he was wearing a fresh t-shirt. He tugged the bottom of it. _Where the--?_

"I put it on you," said an unfamiliar voice. Sam turned to the other bed and to the stranger sitting before him. "Hey" was the only introduction he received, but really, it was the only one he needed, the look in the guy's eyes was unmistakable.

"Ed?" Sam asked already aware of the answer.

"Yeah, it's me kid," Ed replied with a slight and somber smile. Sam relaxed a little.

"Geez, you spooked me the way you're sitting there all quiet. You're never quiet."

"Sorry," he said simply. Sam eyed Ed's new look; noting the goatee, he smirked slightly.

"So what's with the getup?"

"No getup, just me. This is me."

"You?" Sam restated stunned. "As in this is what you _actually_ look like? What happened to the whole 'ball of energy' thing?"

"This is my human form, the one the universe sort of _defaults_ me to," Ed explained matter-of-fact. Sam raised an eyebrow at Ed's striking good looks.

"Nice default, you'd give Dean a run for his money." Sam laughed. "He'd hate you before he even got to know you." Ed's gaze skimmed away. Sam's eyes narrowed over Ed's odd discomfort; he switched gears. "So earlier… why'd you take off on me like that? I mean… you know what I mean."

"Yeah," Ed replied heavily and looked to the floor. "I realized something. I just- I realized something that…"

"That what?" Sam pushed for answers.

"That I need to deal with." Ed looked up at him. Sam didn't like this, whatever _this_ was. Something had happened to Ed in the short time since he'd taken off and it worried him. He couldn't hold back.

"Can you talk about it? I mean, you--" Sam sighed. "You're acting kinda morose here." Ed stifled a smile.

"Sorry kid. I just, this case, it's taking too long--" Ed hesitated, then said flatly, "I need to move on."

"Oh," Sam blurted.

"Now," Ed added.

"Oh." Sam repeated gloomily. "But… you're bound to me. I mean, you can't just leave, can you?"

"I-" Ed struggled, "no. We need to finish this. It needs… _closure_."

"Okay… but how? We haven't been able to figure it out yet."

"We…" Ed shifted uneasily, "we could go a _different_ direction."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you trust me?"

"You know I do," Sam replied quickly. Ed smiled uncomfortably. It was only then that Sam noticed the roll of duct tape he was holding. "What's that for?" He asked nervously.

"I need to tape you up, kid," Ed explained. "I know this won't make sense at first, but…" Ed trailed off seemingly unable to explain.

If Sam had stopped to think, he would have recognized his deeper feelings of unease and hesitancy, but he didn't stop, he wanted to help his friend, and so he simply held his hands out and said:

"Okay."

Ed nodded half thankful, half… Sam wasn't sure what the other half carried. Ed just seemed defeated, like he had more on his mind than he was letting on, and that _more_ was burdened with some sort of heavy weight.

Ed crouched down and began to wrap the tape around Sam's wrists in the same bizarre manner he had the first night they'd met. Sam fidgeted slightly as Ed finished with his wrists and moved on to binding his ankles. He glanced down and watched silently as the tape was wrapped thick and wide halfway up his shins. Ed stood back up and pulled another long stretch off the roll, the ripping sound cut into Sam's nerves and he began to pay attention to that feeling of unease he had ignored.

"What's that piece for?" He questioned with an involuntary gulp.

"Your chest." Ed could tell he no longer had Sam's full trust, to complete the job he added, "we don't have to do this ya know. We can stop." Sam's eyes went sort of puppy dog soft and he shook his head.

"No, keep going," he consented.

Ed stuck the strip across Sam's chest and began to wrap what was left of the roll around his upper body. Suddenly finding himself a bit jumpy, Sam squirmed and started questioning. "So… what is this 'different direction' exactly?" Sam's breath quickened as Ed failed to answer. "I mean-- Dean… how is this um… binding me…" Sam watched as Ed pulled the tape taut and kept wrapping all the way down until his upper arms were completely affixed to his chest. "How is all this-- this is a lot of tape," Sam blurted nervously. He was breathing as if he'd just finished a sprint; it was embarrassing, and the questions came faster. "What-- I mean-- making Dean sorry- how is this gonna _h-elp_?" Sam's voice cracked. "I just--" Sam glanced the room, suddenly aware of his brother's lack of presence. "Where is Dean? He should be back by now."

"He's distracted with something." Ed chucked the now empty tape roll onto one of the nightstands. "I needed you alone."

"Oh." Sam craned his neck back as Ed loomed over him.

"This thing with Dean, he'll never change." Ed's voice shifted to an almost sinister tone. "You said it, hard and cold, and I know it's what you believe, but you're wrong." His eyes shifted to parallel his voice. "Dean_ will _change, if something drastic pushes him to." With Ed's words the room surreally obscured into darkness.

Sam's focus shifted in the settling shadows, his breathing slowed, and the moment extended; his revelation had arrived too late.

"Sorry kid," Ed whispered.

"Shit," Sam uttered. He tried to make off the bed. As he stood, Ed grabbed him roughly. Sam snatched a handful of Ed's shirt into his fists, turned, and threw all of his body weight into him. Ed fell back hard into the nightstand, throwing both arms out in attempt to catch himself. The lamp came crashing down over his shoulder, and Sam literally jumped at the opportunity, lunging himself up and across the room. He hopped toward the dresser, slammed into it sideways, and pulled open the top drawer as best he could.

"Shit- shit--" Sam cursed as he awkwardly fumbled through the stack of shirts. "Shit!" Ed's hand came out of nowhere and grabbed him by the wrists.

"It's not there, Sam." Sam swung around to find Ed practically on top of him. "The gun you're looking for," Ed continued. "I moved it."

"What happened to you?!" Sam demanded.

"Nothing."

"No- no," Sam argued. "Someone did something to you- you wouldn't-- I know you Ed-- this isn't you!"

"It is me Sam, I just… everybody has _sides_."

"No- your eyes- your voice-" Sam insisted. "They're-- _different_."

Ed tilted his head slightly forward and the characteristic look Sam had come to know as Ed flashed brilliantly back into his eyes.

"Is this what you want?" Ed's voice questioned as his familiar and friendly tone abruptly returned. "Is this who you're looking for… _kid?"_ Sam choked down a whimper, and suppressed his sudden urge to be sick. Ed reached up and took him by the shoulders. "Come on Sam." His eyes shifted. "We've wasted enough time." His voice shifted. "Let's go." And he was gone; the Ed Sam knew and trusted was gone.

Sam shook his head as he tugged out of Ed's grasp. He backed along the dresser, edging himself away from the friend he no longer knew. When Ed reached out for him a second time, Sam harshly pulled away, slid off the dresser, and fell hard to the floor. Ed cursed, grabbed him while he was still stunned, and hefted him up onto the bed. He pushed Sam back against the comforter, grabbed his wrists, and pinned them up against his chest.

"Sh-it," Sam whimpered hurtfully. His struggles wouldn't work this time; he was trapped.

Sam gazed groggily up at who he now knew to be the bad guy.

"E-Ed," he hiccuped.

"It'll be okay Sam." Ed insisted as he took Sam's face into his free hand. "It's gonna work this time."

"No- no-" Sam crunched his eyes shut as tears welled through.

"It will Sam. Once you're gone, Dean will have to regret how he treated you. Believe me- he'll regret."

"Nuh-no- no…" Sam fought through clenched teeth.

"Calm down," Ed instructed as he pulled out a wrinkled bandana.

"Stop--" Sam dodged his head about as Ed attempted to bring the cloth onto his face. "Don't-- not like this," he begged, "not like this."

"It's too late Sam." Ed caught him by the chin with the ball of his hand and let the cloth loom less then an inch away from use.

"No- no-" he gasped. Ed looked at him steady.

"I'm gonna fix this… _I'll fix it…"_ Ed said it with a tone Sam felt was almost injected into him. He froze as the worst fear swept through him, and although Ed had assured big brother was nowhere to be found, in what Sam believed to be his last breath, he cried out just the same.

"DEAN!" His voice cracked loud and frightful, then was silenced.

Ed pressed the cloth hard over Sam's nose and mouth. Sam kicked and twisted as the last thin streams of air were clipped away. His eyes fell shut and his body jerked as the abrupt smothering began to take him. Shock beckoned his senses: every regret, every fear, revolved around his brother.

"Sammy!"

Sam's eyes shot open at the distant sound of his brother's voice. Ed faltered as he jerked in reaction, letting the cloth slip from Sam's face.

"_Dean--"_ both men gasped in vastly opposing tones. They looked at one another and the call came again.

"SAMMY!" It was louder, Dean was getting closer; he was ascending the outside staircase. Ed didn't hesitate; he promptly shoved the bandana deep into Sam's mouth, hoisted him off the bed, and tipped him over his shoulder.

Sam tried to focus, but he felt completely disoriented. All he could see were the carpeted steps bouncing past as he jarred about, nothing but a limp torso dangling off Ed's backside. It was making him sick; that, and the fact that his good friend was trying to kill him. Sam felt a surge of hot tears rise to the surface. He pulled his eyes shut tight, hoping to suppress both his emotions, and the nauseating vertigo. In his darkness he heard the screen door push open and slam behind, then felt the quick pounding of a few more steps. They were outside. Sam opened his eyes and tried to tilt up, to see back inside in the last few seconds before Ed cornered the garden and headed for the back of the house. Everything past the screen door was dark; there was no way to tell if Dean was still in pursuit, then confirmation came in the form of his brother's deep, curt voice.

"Sam!" Footsteps pounded down the inside staircase and punctuated with sever rattling of the screen door. The rattle escalated into banging, accompanied by a plethora of curse words. _Ed,_ Sam deduced; he had screwed with the door in an attempt to delay Dean. Despite his own troubles, Sam paused to feel sorry for the door; his brother was going to kick its innocent hinges clear in two.

The loud banging faded in the distance. Now it was tall, yellowed grass and thick weeds flying by as Ed's legs booked across the back field. Sam released a deep guttural scream for his brother and knew he was the only one to hear it. The gag, the stupid dry bandana filling his mouth, it was just shoved in there, nothing to secure it, and yet it was so lodged, pinning his tongue flat, holding his jaw open awkward and helpless. Sam strained his neck once again to look for his brother; the field was wide-open empty, and Ed's feet came to a halt: they had reached the barn.

Ed closed them inside and threw the bulky wooden latch down. He paused, scanned the area, and grabbed a large knotted length of rope off a work shelf. He hooked it under the arm that was hugging Sam's legs and headed for the back of the barn. Sam really couldn't see a thing, just the dirt-covered floor and the tuff of fabric sticking from his mouth. Ed was moving fast; he hit the ramp that lead to the above loft at a run, lunged onto it, and climbed the steeply angled stretch of wood to the top. The moment his hand hit the platform he dropped Sam onto the floorboards, stepped over him, and got to work with the rope.

Sam nudged forward and craned his head off the edge of the loft. There was no railing, but it was at least a twelve-foot drop, too far to make a break for it by rolling. He quickly scanned the area: to his left stood the twin silos. The semi-circle sections of them that faced into the barn rose through its interior and were butt up against the loft. Both had latched sliding hatches that opened onto the platform, the closer one was closed, but the further one was wide open and Sam wondered if he could somehow use it to escape. A few feet away and taking up most of the center section of the loft was a railed-in four-foot by four-foot square hole. He had no idea what that was about and as he rolled onto his back to get a better look he suddenly noticed Ed's progress with the rope.

"-uck," he cursed into the gag. Above the back of the loft stretched a sturdy wood beam. One end of the rope was wrapped around it and knotted off; the other end was in Ed's hands closing in on the final steps of being tied into a noose. As Sam quickly pieced things together he heard something heavy and angry slam into the outside of the barn door; it didn't take much to figure out what, or rather _who,_ it was. "-ean," Sam pointlessly spoke again. _Damn this stupid gag_, he bemoaned internally, then rolled his eyes, stretched his bound hands up, and catching the end with his fingertips, pulled it out. Sadly it had not yet occurred to him that his hands were no longer pinned between his crotch and Ed's shoulder.

Sam stretched a pasty tongue far out of his mouth and retched in recognition of the bad clothy taste that now coated his mouth. As the barn door banging session continued from outside, Sam took a deep breath and confirmed to his brother his whereabouts.

"DEAN!!!" He called loud as hell. Ed cracked an expression as if he'd just shattered an eardrum, completed the final knot of the noose, and hoisted Sam to his knees as Dean placed the final latch-breaking blow to the door.

"Sam!" Dean yelled as he ran the full length of the barn. Ed slipped the noose over Sam's head and slid the knot until the rope was taut against his throat. He wrapped the excess of rope around his hand and gave a sharp upward tug. Sam's head cocked back; he gulped hard and straightened his spine as the rope pulled up his neck and caught just under his jaw line. He could still breathe fine, but as Ed stood behind him, holding him in place close to the ledge of the loft, Sam eyed the length of the rope and knew all it would take to snap his neck was one hard push. Dean ran to the base of the ramp, cocked the sawed-off shotgun he was carrying, and pointed it into the loft. "Stop!" Dean commanded short of breath. "Let him go. Now!"

Ed hesitated and rolled his eyes, exasperated at the site of the gun.

"What're ya doin' Dean? You can't use that gun from there and you know it. It's short range, low precision." Dean's jaw tensed and an aggravated scowl cross his face.

"You're right," Dean agreed. He threw the shotgun onto the ramp, pulled out his handgun and shot. The bullet grazed Ed's neck.

"Ouch!" Ed yelled and grabbed the wound as if a malicious little mosquito had bit him. "That freakin' hurt!" He whined as he glared at Dean. Dean ignored him, braced his shooting hand, and lined up for a second shot.

"Next one'll do more than hurt. Let him go," Dean repeated with a growl.

Ed's expression went calm, strategic. He eyed Dean and let go of the rope; it hung slack from the overhead beam, yet still threateningly remained around Sam's neck. Ed stooped down, grabbed Sam by the shoulders, and leaned in close.

"He thinks I'm human Sam," Ed said in a low, angry tone. "He thinks he can kill me with that thing." Sam glanced back at him. Ed lined himself up behind Sam and slowly pulled him to his feet. "Get him to stop or this is gonna turn bloody and all three of us will settle it in the afterlife."

"You wouldn't," Sam tested.

"No bluff. I don't have to resolve this here. I'm used to working with spirits."

Sam's eyes softened in expression and he looked down at his brother. Dean registered Sam's fearful turn and tightened his grip on the gun preparing for the clear shot he suddenly realized he no longer had. Sam looked back at Ed, then again at Dean; he hesitated too long.

"Okay kid, have it your way," Ed resolved. He tightened his grip and pushed a fighting Sam toward the ledge.

"NO!!" Dean screamed and charged the ramp, gun up.

Sam buckled and dug his feet into the wood. Ed was pushing; Dean was screaming; it all suddenly became very vivid.

"Stop- STOP- **STOP!!**" Sam yelled. "_BOTH OF YOU!!_" Both Ed and Dean stopped short. "Let's talk- let's all just talk!" Sam shouted at them. Ed and Dean exchanged a glance.

"What the hell are you saying Sam?" Dean questioned.

"I'm saying… I'm saying I screwed up." Sam began. "I'm saying… this is my fault and it's gotten way out of control." Dean just stared, said nothing. "I-- this is a demon Dean. An Energy Demon that I summed here- I summoned here because of you." Dean's resolve seemed to break. He tilted his head, looked at Ed, and lowered his gun. Sam noticed the exchange but kept going. "That night-- the night I was shot-- I-- it was an accident Dean-- I just-- I was mad-- I didn't mean to call him. I didn't-- I swear. But--" Sam caught his breath. "But then he was here and he shot me and-- I wanted to tell you Dean, I wanted to tell you so bad but-- but when I was on the phone with you-- my shoulder-- there was so much blood and you just-- you pissed me off so much-- you were giving me a hard time and I-- I just--"

Dean's expression shifted drastically: raw and stunned.

"Wait- wait- hold up." Dean stopped him. "What are you saying? Are you--" Dean stopped full as the truth hit him. "Sam-- were you shot _before_ you called me?"

Sam went pale. He had become so wrapped up in everything that had happened since the night he was shot, the worry over lying to his brother about the timing of events had gotten totally buried. It was a simple answer, and even though Dean already knew the response, Sam still couldn't bring himself to just say it.

"Sam you--" Dean cracked as his emotions got the better of him. "Damn it Sam-- you know me better than that! I don't care what the hell sort of a 'time' I was giving you-- you're my brother!" He screamed. "You're hurt, you TELL ME to drop the crap and come help you!!!" Dean shook his head in disgust. He turned away and pinched the bridge of his nose as he heatedly thought things through. When he turned back he didn't address Sam, he addressed Ed.

"You!" Dean mouthed off, enraged. "Is this fun for you?" Ed, like Sam, went sort of white and said nothing. "So what--" Dean continued. "We have a _twenty minute_ conversation discussing this shit, and you didn't think to mention that he lied to me about when he was shot?"

Ed cringed and sighed heavily; Sam turned and stared at him.

"Ed?" He questioned suspiciously. Ed froze, uncomfortably trapped: their cover was blown. He looked at Sam, gave a guilty grin, and shrugged.

"Sorry kid."

* * *

Hope you liked it. I hate to be a review hound, but given the extreme length of downtime between postings, it would be great to hear who's returned to finish the story.

Thanks guys =)  
Kate


	14. Chapter 14

Hey!

Want to drop a quick thanks to everyone who returned to the story, and especially to those who left a review =)  
And YAY! to my beta for getting her edits back to me just in time to post on schedule.

This is a longish chapter with a lot of explanation, a lot of crazy antics, and a lot of... well, you'll see!

* * *

**Energies and Ice Cream**

**CH 14**

"Look, you're not gonna like this, but," he crossed his arms sternly, "we need to talk."

Dean glared at the guy in the doorway as if he had just challenged to race for pink slips. "Okay, let's talk," Dean accepted.

Ed pushed out a tolerating breath; Dean was going to make this as exhausting as possible. "Not here," Ed said firmly, and jerked his head in the direction of the hall. "Come on." He turned and walked away. Dean stood down. He glanced back at Sam who was still out cold on the bed. He wasn't sure what talking to this guy, _this Ed_, was all about, but if it gave him even a bit of insight as to what the hell had been going on with his brother, he needed to take the meeting. Dean drew his eyes away from Sam, and shutting the door behind him, followed Ed into the room across the hall.

"Ugh. What the fuck's up with this?" Dean blurted. Posters of Molly Ringwald, Jon Cryer, and Andrew McCarthy plastered the walls, the entire room had a classic eighties feel to it, and it was undeniably, incredibly, dreadfully, _pink_. Ed looked at Dean, his exasperation continuing.

"It's 'Pretty in Pink', man," he explained.

"Pretty my ass, this room is butt-fugly," Dean remarked. Ed cracked a smile, and further explained.

"The movie, 'Pretty in Pink', it's a John Hughes classic." Dean just stared; Ed sighed. "John Hughes. You do know John Hughes?" Dean shrugged. "'Sixteen Candles'?" Nothing. "'The Breakfast Club'?" More nothing. "'Weird Science'?" Dean snapped his fingers and bought a clue. "Oh- 'Weird Science'!" He grinned and nodded his head with approval. "Dude, that chick was hot!"

"Yeah," Ed returned shortly. "Ya know, I've been to Hell and this is really starting to rival it." Dean's face dropped, then the comment fully registered, and he raised an eyebrow. "So your brother…" Ed pushed to the chase. "I'm not exactly sure where to start."

"How 'bout with _you…_ and why you've been to Hell," Dean insisted coldly.

"I'm a demon," Ed plunged in, "an energy demon." Dean's eyes widened.

"You mean like a Fragment Demon? A Penance Demon?"

"Actually, we prefer Cohesively Challenged Atonement Demon." Dean just stared. "Why can't I find a human with a sense of humor? Yeah, Penance Demon- whatever."

"I though they were a myth, or at least extremely rare?"

"Well there aren't a lot of us, but we do exist."

"Okay fine, but what do you have to do with Sam? PDs only work with supernatural beings, Sam isn't…" Dean trailed off as he connected the dots. "His abilities, this has to do with all the psychic crap he's going through. Doesn't it?"

"That's the reason I heard him. It's not the reason I'm here."

"Then why?" Dean questioned. Ed hesitated briefly.

"You. I'm here because of his relationship with you."

"What?" Dean blurted defensively.

"Look, Sam… put a thought out into the universe, a strong one."

"And this 'thought', it includes me?"

"Yeah."

"How?" Dean demanded.

"Sam wants... he wants to be able to talk to you. He wants to be capable of telling you what he thinks, _what he really thinks_, instead of backing down all the time." Dean stood dumbfounded.

"You're kidding, right?"

"No Dean. It's pretty straight forward," Ed said. "A lot of it's just being honest with simple shit, some of it's standing up to you, but the source of it..." Ed trailed off into a headshake.

"What?"

"He's afraid."

"Afraid of what?" Dean questioned sincerely. Ed didn't respond, he only looked at him in a meaningfully annoying way. Dean sighed heavily and moved on. "Yeah okay. So you're fixing this how?"

"Well for starters I shot him."

"_You_ shot him!?"

"Well not so much shot, more like 'placed' a bullet in him. My intent was to scare him, not kill him."

"How the hell was _that_ supposed to solve anything?!"

"I figured if Sam thought he was in trouble, really in trouble, he'd push all the crap aside and just talk. That's… not how it worked out."

"Yeah well, you underestimated the pride and stubbornness of a Winchester," Dean reproached smugly.

"I'm learning," Ed said directing the comment at Dean. Dean scoffed knowingly. "Look- it's not just that," Ed admitted uncomfortably. "There's more."

"More? What more?"

"I messed up. Sam and I-- we haven't exactly been on the same page."

"What do you mean?"

"I was thinking one thing; he was thinking something else. I just didn't realize it until a few minutes ago when he went off on you. It took his little bitch fest to open my eyes and--"

"Woah- woah- wait. Bitch fest?" Dean broke in. "Why the hell is he bitching to you?"

"Because we've been working together," Ed stated bluntly.

"Working--?" Dean flipped out. "So not only does Sam know you're here, he's been helping you?!"

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call it_ help_," Ed commented.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean yelled. "This! This is what he's been hiding from me?!"

"Gee Dean, I can't guess at all why the kid's afraid to talk to you," Ed remarked.

Dean tensed and punched the nearest wall, pretty much landing his fist smack in the middle of Jon Cryer's face. He paused to rub his hand and as he stared blankly at the poster, his revelation finally showed up.

"Oh, it's that stupid movie where the mom leaves and she makes the pink potato sack dress." He snapped his fingers in further revelation. "Ducky!" Dean shook his finger and laughed. "That Hildy…" He looked to Ed for acknowledgment; Ed simply blinked.

"Your attention span is mind blowing."

"Huh? Oh, sorry," Dean shifted uncomfortably, making note of his own idiocy. "Go on with… what you were… ya know-- saying."

"Thanks," Ed said unappreciatively. "What I've been trying to tell you is that Sam pushed out two thoughts that night: the one I'm here to fix, and the one he_ thinks_ I'm here to fix." Dean's eyes narrowed.

"Ya wanna flush that one out for me there, Hellboy?"

"I'm not really _from_ Hell," Ed corrected, insulted. Dean gave no reaction. "Right."

Ed scrubbed a hand across his face and re-grouped.

"Okay- Sam's first thought… standing up to you, talking to you, that's what I collided with, that's what I'm here to change. His second thought… that was verbal and random. He made it after I was already on the job and I have nothing to do with resolving it. But _that's_ the one he thinks I'm here for. It's also the reason why none of my attempts have worked: shooting him, getting him drunk, arranging a B&B get away for two. Sam's been unwittingly working against me the whole time; treating this _second thought_ as our goal."

"Okay, but why's he confused? Didn't you _tell him_ you were here for the…" Dean paused uncomfortably, "…'talk' thing?"

"I--" Ed found himself caught. "No," he admitted.

"Why the hell not?"

"I couldn't spell it out. I was being ominous!"

"Ominous?" Dean scoffed.

"He called me to him, I explained what I do, I thought the rest was implied," Ed finished with a huff.

"Okay, fine- whatever. So what is it?"

"What's… what?"

"What do you mean what's what? The second thought! What is it?"

"Uhhhhhhh… ergggghhhh…" Ed's mouth hung open as he stalled uncomfortably.

"Dude, what does he think you're here to fix?"

"He… thinks I'm here to _ma... keyo…uso…rry…_" Ed mumbled, coughed into his fist, and drew his eye line to the ceiling.

"To _what?"_ Dean burst shortly.

"He--" Ed sighed. "He thinks I'm here to make you regret how you treat him, to… make you sorry."

"How I-? To make me--! Are you fucking kidding me?!" Dean bitched. "I'll kill him! I'm just-- I'm gonna kill him," he huffed in disbelief.

"Calm down Dean, he's just tired of your crap, that's all. I mean, wouldn't you be?" Ed looked at him sharply. Dean sighed, pretty much getting it.

"Okay yeah, but-- pushing him around, telling him what to do, it's big brother stuff, it doesn't mean anything," Dean stated seriously, "and if he hates it so much all he has to do is stand up for himself once in a while."

"Yeah, but he doesn't," Ed said calmly.

"Well if he-- I mean--" Dean slammed into loss of solution. "Aw… fuck."

"Yeah," Ed agreed, "which brings us back to why I'm _actually _here."

"Great, just fucking great," Dean moaned begrudgingly. "I send him out for ice cream and he conjures up a penance demon."

"Kids." Ed shrugged. Dean gave him a death look.

"Ya know it's not funny, he thinks you shot him just to piss me off."

"Not piss you off-- make you sorry."

"Well I am, believe me. So how do we fix this?" Dean asked. "How do we get rid of you?"

"We work together. We put me back to what I started as in all this… the bad guy." Dean liked the sound of that.

"I'm listening."

"If I become the bad guy again, then in Sam's eyes that would put you back as--"

"The good guy." Dean filled in the blank.

"And hopefully with a little extra nudging on my part, things will just fall into place."

"What sort of _nudging_ are you talking about?"

"You wait down by the hot tub while I talk to Sam."

"What are you gonna talk about?" Dean questioned quickly.

"Let me worry about that."

"No," Dean stated with a stern headshake. "You wanna work together, that means you tell me everything." Ed thought it over.

"Fine. I'm gonna tell him I have a new plan, that I wanna go in a different direction with things, and that I need him to trust me. Then I'm gonna tie him up, and--"

"What?" Dean cut in.

"Tie him up," Ed repeated. Dean shook his head and laughed.

"He's not gonna let you tie him up."

"Yeah- he will," Ed insisted matter of fact. "He trusts me Dean, and he's desperate; he'll do whatever the hell I tell him."

"You're wrong," Dean countered defiantly.

"I'm not," Ed insisted arrogantly. "I'll tie him up, I'll give him just enough time to realize he's in trouble, just enough time to call for his big brother before I shove the gag in and get to work. It'll be up to you to come after him, to save him, and when he's ready… to listen to what it is he needs to say to you."

"So why's it gonna work this time?" Dean challenged. "Why's _this_ scenario gonna make him talk?"

"Cause you're finally gonna find out about me, who I am and why I'm here, and once that lie is blown, everything Sam's been hiding behind will fall apart." Dean stood silently accepting**. **

"And when you say 'get to work' what is it you mean exactly?"

"Talk. That's all Dean. He'll think I'm gonna hurt him, it'll look like I'm gonna hurt him, but we're all just gonna talk."

"And how do I know you _won't_ hurt him?"

"You have to trust me."

"Well I don't," Dean stated harshly.

"You're a hunter, Dean. You know what I am, you know I'm here to help Sam not hurt him."

"You _have_ hurt him," Dean pointed out coldly. Ed's confidence wavered as he recollected the car crash.

"I never intended that. I'd never… I won't let him get hurt again."

"Don't say that like you actually care about him." Dean's voice flared. "You don't care about him, you don't even know him!"

"The hell I don't!" Ed returned fiercely. "I'm the one he's been confiding in; I'm the one he trusts! You can't blame this on me, Dean. The problem was here before I was. And although there's lots of tangled reasons your brother won't talk to you, don't kid yourself into thinking you aren't one of them!"

Dean grabbed Ed and slammed him into the wall. His nostrils flared as he huffed hot, angered breath into Ed's face.

"Look," Ed continued, "we both know I'm right, which is why you're pissed."

"Nice theory," Dean jeered and gave Ed an extra slam against the drywall.

"Okay, maybe only I know I'm right," Ed backpedaled. "But you still need to give this a chance," he pressed. "If you don't, if you can't find a way to trust me, Dean… Sam will never talk."

"I don't need you, I can go talk to him myself."

"Yeah, cause that's been working super so far," Ed mocked.

"Your attempts haven't worked either."

"Exactly, which is why we need to do this _together_."

Dean's trepidation diminished. Gradually, he let Ed go.

"Fine. I'll do it," he gave in. "I'll wait downstairs and come when he calls, but I swear if you hurt him…"

"You'll kick my ass, blah blah blah… I get it." Ed straightened his shirt and cracked his knuckles. "Ya know Dean, it's not that he doesn't want to talk to you."

"Yeah? Then why won't he?" Dean challenged. "I've practically begged him to talk, to tell me what the hell's been going on. It's not like I haven't been ready to listen."

"I know," Ed offered sincerely, "but sometimes it's not just about listening." Dean gazed at him silently resisting the comment.

"Whatever- let's just get this over with."

"Fine Dean. You got your knife?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Cause you'll need it," Ed said pointedly. "Go wait by the hot tub. It'll take me a few minutes to get him ready. Come when he calls for you."

"I got my end covered," Dean said smugly. "But I suggest you think of a backup plan, 'cause like I said, he's not gonna let you tie him up."

"He already has Dean… twice."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"None of my initial plans ever involved Sam needing to be saved by you, yet somehow the kid always resisted until that's exactly where he ended up."

"What are you saying?"

"If part of him didn't have a need to be rescued by his big brother, he never would have let me do any of that stuff to him." A shameful chill sunk through Dean. "He wants you to be the hero Dean; he wants you to be the good guy… all you have to do is start acting like one."

Ed stared at him intensely and waited for the shift. The moment he knew Dean _got it_, he turned and walked away.

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and gazed out the far window. He really hated this guy, hated him for showing up, hated him for getting close to his kid brother. And as for being so fucking right? Somehow when Ed said 'be the good guy' Dean knew he didn't mean show up, kick a few doors down, and come to the rescue John McClane style, but that sure as hell didn't mean he couldn't look the part. The edge of Dean's lip curled into a playfully wicked smile. He grasped his keys and headed for the trunk of the Impala; he had guns to load.

Ed stood in the bedroom hovering over Sam trying to figure out the best way to stretch a t-shirt over the kid's gawky-long arms. That's when he felt it: as Dean passed by the door and headed down the stairs, a cocktail of raw shaken energy side-swiped him like a bully's shoulder shove in the hall between classes. Ed took the hit, sighed, and brushed a hand through his hair. He shook his head and pretty much used every mannerism that could possibly go along with immense exasperation.

Ed sat on the end table next to the bed and stared down at Sam.

"Kid, what the hell did you drag me into?" He bunched up the t-shirt and tossed it onto the bed. "Okay listen. I'm gonna ignore the blatant signs and move forward as planned, but when it all goes terribly wrong and blows up in my face, just-- don't say 'I told you so'." Sam gave an unconscious grunt and rolled onto his side, pretty much turning his back on Ed. "Thanks for the support kid," Ed remarked dryly.

Seeing a sudden opportunity to get at least one arm on, Ed stood and grabbed the t-shirt. He shoved his hands inside and stretched it out like a cat's cradle, then wrestled it over Sam's head.

"Who knows," he commented, "maybe your brother will surprise me and actually work with me on this.

* * *

"You!" Dean mouthed off, enraged. "Is this fun for you?" Ed, like Sam, went sort of white and said nothing. "So what--" Dean continued. "We have a _twenty minute_ conversation discussing this shit, and you didn't think to mention that he lied to me about when he was shot?"

Ed didn't need to see Sam's face to know their cover was blown. What he did need was to think fast and stay composed; if he didn't, his plan would be shot to hell.

Sam looked at him suspiciously. "Ed?" He questioned. Ed worked on the_ think fast -- stay composed_ thing.

"Sorry kid." Or possibly he only worked on _thinking fast_. "Sorry your brother is a BIG MOUTH TRAITOR!!"

"You demonic bastard," Dean returned brazenly. "You're gonna blame this on me?"

"I had a plan Dean, one I thought we agreed to stick to!"

"Yeah, we did-- and now we're doing it my way!" Ed threw his hands up in response.

"How the hell do you put up with him?" Ed complained to Sam.

"It's not easy," Sam remarked, "so uh-- you lied."

"What?"

"You lied to me," Sam continued. "This whole evil Ed thing, it was an act. Why?"

"I didn't want to go about it this way Sam, I didn't. But I'm here to help you, and this was the best way to do it." Sam checked Ed's eyes.

"So you're… _okay_, then? I mean- you're not actually evil?"

"No Sam." Ed relinquished a small smile.

"And you teamed up with Dean…"

"Because I felt I had to," Ed stated simply. Sam thought it over.

"Okay," he accepted easily. "If that's what you had to do."

"Really Sam?" Dean burst out of nowhere. "Just like that?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing: how without question his brother had forgiven Ed. "Ed says he did it because he 'had to', and you're just fine with that? You trust him that much?"

"Dean I--" Sam faltered, caught in his allegiance to Ed. "I didn't--"

"Didn't what?!" Dean freaked. "Sam, what?!" Sam shook his head and anxiously backed up into Ed.

Dean's eyes flooded with disbelief; Ed was right: he was the bad guy in all this, he was the one Sam was afraid of.

"Sammy--_ really_?" He questioned with a shudder. "I just-- what did I do that was so awful you'd choose a demon over your own brother?" His emotional tolerance swiftly hit a wall. "Answer me!!"

"That's enough Dean!" Ed interjected protectively. "It's enough."

"You stay out of this!" Dean yelled forcefully.

"No," Ed insisted. "If he doesn't want to talk, then back off!"

"Seriously?" Dean jeered. "Because you were the one who said he _had_ to talk!"

"Uh… guys?" Sam tried to interject.

"Not like this!" Ed ordered.

"Ed…?" Sam urged.

"How then Mr. Fixit? We gonna waste more time with another one of your brilliant plans?"

"Um, Dean…?" Sam tried.

"Here's an idea," Ed decided. "How 'bout-- _you_ don't talk either!"

"Guys!!" Sam finally cut in with authority.

"What?!" Both men returned curtly.

"Cats!" Sam yelled.

"Huh?" Dean questioned.

"Come again?" Ed requested.

"Cats!" Sam insisted. "If you'd both shut up for two seconds, you'd realize we're being surrounded by cats!"

Ed and Dean quickly scanned the area to discover, lo and behold: they were surrounded by cats. Slowly over the course of their argument, the lighting had faded and the floor had filled with fog. In every direction, eerie, mangy looking cats now menaced about the barn. The agitated looking animals not only packed the floor that surrounded Dean, but several had made their way into the loft, and the rafters above Ed and Sam's heads. Ed gazed at them quizzically.

"That's odd," he noted. "I don't remember opening a can of tuna." Both Dean and Sam raised an eyebrow and stared at him. "Not the time… right," Ed renounced, and a cat lunged straight at his head. "Whaaah!"

Ed pulled Sam out of the way and backed them both against the center railing. Dean eyed his shotgun lying halfway up the ramp. He slowly and carefully moved toward it.

"So uh, Ed," he began, "These little guys wouldn't happen to be some of your doing, would they?" Ed looked up and dodged another cat.

"Summoning an obscene number of cats wasn't exactly on my 'to do' list for the day." Dean frowned skeptically, then shifted his focus to something in his foreground.

"Look out!" He shouted. A chubby, orange cat with a squat face lunged off an overhead beam. Fangs bared and claws up, it was aiming straight for Sam. Dean shot it mid-flight: bloody hunks of fur splattered the rafters and the cat fell dead with a loud thud onto the middle of the ramp.

They all stared at it, including the other cats. Its mangled body lay in a still and bleeding heap. Then, without warning, it woke up, shook off the bad experience, and stood as if nothing had happened to it.

"Uh…" Sam gaped numbly. "Did that thing just rise from the dead?"

"Hang on." Dean raised his handgun and shot it again, this time, straight through the head. The bullet pierced its skull and blew out the other side, taking the left ear with it. The cat took the hit, briefly looked for its ear, and then hissed at Dean in an extremely irritated manner. "Oh that's not good," Dean observed.

"Ya think?" Ed remarked.

Focused on its assailant, the cat hissed viciously and made for Dean. Dean didn't flinch; he pulled out his knife, charged up the ramp, and stabbed the thing straight through the back, deliberately pinning it to the wooden ramp.

"GRruuuhh!" He gave the knife an extra push, driving it in with all his strength.

"There- ya hissy mofo! Get outta that!" The cat was not dead and not pleased, but it was stuck. It squirmed and struggled to leave, and when it finally realized it was going nowhere, it began to meow.

"Meowww--REowww…. Meowwww--REowwww…" The mournful and grating sound echoed through the barn like a broken siren. Slowly, it beckoned the other cats to respond. As the bizarre medley of meows filled the area like an overly chatty cocktail party, Dean and Ed exchanged a worried glance.

"Uh… kay. Maybe pinning it wasn't such a good idea," Dean noted.

"Soooo… not good," Sam uttered.

Dean covered his ears and glanced at the barn floor; the cats were beginning to move in on them. Ed protectively shifted in front of Sam, as Dean sauntered up the ramp in an agitated tirade.

"Great. Fine." Dean emptied his handgun on several cats. "Like this day could get worse." He reloaded with a sharp 'click'. "First I get slapped when I outturn my wallet at Java Jan's." He shot an orange tabby and tossed the gun to Ed. "Then my kid brother betrays me for a demon with nicer hair than mine." He grabbed the shotgun and cocked it. "And now..." He edged his way to Ed and Sam. "just when I figure, it's gotta be over, the hits just can't keep coming…" Dean fired the shotgun blowing away two felines at once. "Oh yeah… it's Zombie Cats."

"Dean--" Sam tried.

"No, no--" Dean insisted with a hand up. "It's so wrong it makes complete sense. I'm good."

"Okay then," Ed hastened. "Moving forward-- shit!" Another cat leapt at Ed's head; he dodged and watched as it cleared the safety rail and fell a full story into the pit below. Sam stared into the dark, hollow area.

"What's down there?"

"It's a grain basin." Ed turned away and shot three cats in succession. "It's where the silos empty out. Sam we need to get that noose off you."

Both Sam and Dean eyed the noose; they had completely forgotten it was still in play. Sam pointlessly tugged at his binding and vainly attempted to reach his throat; he grunted in frustration.

"I got it," Dean reassured, and hustled toward his brother. Before he could get anywhere close, two orange tabbies jumped him. All three landed with a hard crash to the floor; the shotgun jolted from Dean's hand, slid across the loft, and fell into the lower barn.

"Dean!" Sam shouted as a battering of claws ripped his brother's chest. Ed pushed Sam out of the way, dropped to a lower angle, and shot one of the cats. Dean rolled over several times slamming the remaining cat against the floor repeatedly until they were near the edge of the loft. It gripped ruthlessly into his t-shirt and refused to let go. Dean grabbed it by the stomach and pushed it away until the pre-shrunk fabric was stretched taut. Finally the cat's claws gave way and it went flying over the side and down onto the main floor. Dean peered over the edge; neither cat nor shotgun were in any way discernible, both having been absorbed into the mass of cats. Dean quickly mourned the loss of his firearm and moved on; cats were approaching the ramp in droves.

"Ed!" He warned.

"I'm on it!" Ed ran to the ramp and tried to disconnect it from the loft. Dean scurried over and took the other side. "I think both latches need to get pulled at once," Ed reasoned. "So pull!" Dean began to pull the rusted stuck latch then remembered something.

"My knife!" He pushed himself down the ramp, chest scraping the rough boards, until he reached the highly annoyed cat with the knife jutting out of its back.

"Dean what the hell are you doing?!"

Dean fought to grab his knife as the pissy cat swatted and hissed.

"I'm not losing my blade to some mangy, two-foot, hairball!"

"Let it go, Dean!"

"You let it go!" He hollered, then instantly second guessed his decision.

A pack of cats ran up the ramp straight at him. As the first lunged, he ducked and covered, arms crisscrossed over the back of his skull.

"Shit," he swore as a loud sequence of bullets flew straight past his head. Dean peeked up from the security of his elbows to see Ed, handgun raised, smoke drifting from the barrel. All of the cats had been blown off the ramp. Dean rolled over and bitched. "That was a little close, don't you think?"

"Although your head makes for a large target, it's not what I was aiming for." Ed fired another shot; it promptly hit a cat and proved his point. "Now get your knife and get back here," he instructed. Dean grumbled and rolled over to face the cat. He gritted through the crazed clawing, grabbed the handle of his knife, and tugged; it didn't so much as budge.

"What the crap?!" Dean questioned as he continued to yank pointlessly.

"We don't have time for this Dean!" Ed fired off twelve consecutive bullets as new and previously shot cats attempted to infiltrate the loft. "Quit messing around!"

"I'm not messing around!" Dean yelled. "This bitch is seriously stuck!"

"Well un-stuck it!" Ed bellowed. He watched baffled as Dean continued to pull at the knife. "Geez- do I have to come down there myself?" Ed prompted. Dean's anger flared at the suggestion. Instead of brawn he switched to brain and wiggled the knife until it came loose from the wood.

"YES!!!" He rejoiced. "NOOOO!!!" He amended. Before he could do a damn thing about it, the furry zombie hopped up and ran past him along the ramp. Sadly, he had only removed his knife from the floor.

Ed's eyes followed the bloody feline as it pranced into the loft, Dean's beloved knife still projecting from between its shoulder blades. He choked out a semi-concealed snicker. Dean rolled onto his back and continued to grieve.

"Aaahhguuhhhhherr!!!!!" The frustrated hunter slammed both fists into the floor, pouted his lip, and released a small whimper.

"Dean--" Ed kindly reminded.

"I know!" He griped. "I'm coming… I'm freakin' coming!" Dean kicked up the ramp and put his full attention into pulling the latch.

"At least it's in the loft," Ed reassured. Dean rolled his eyes and gave the latch a tough yank. It popped undone and the entire thing separated from the loft. The men heaved it up and tossed it out into the open barn. It landed with a heavy crash and a huge puff of dirt taking down several cats as it went. Without wasting a beat Ed turned into the loft and shot as many cats as he could locate. "Get them outta here," he initiated as he kicked the stunned animals out of the second floor. Dean followed suit, grabbing and tossing the weighty fur balls out into the barn. As Ed continued to shoot uninterrupted, Dean raised a suspicious eyebrow.

"How many rounds is that?" He inquired suddenly.

"Why?" Ed fired off several more shots.

"Cuz, that's a fifteen round Glock," Dean explained, "and I only gave you one clip."

"Oh." Ed blinked. "Yeah, manifesting endless ammo is sort of a hidden talent of mine."

"Nice talent," Dean scoffed, semi-jealous.

"I like it," Ed commented with a satisfied smile as he shot one last cat. Dean picked it up and gave it a good fling; it went slightly off course and slammed into the wall with a loud 'Reowww'.

"Oops." Dean cringed. "Okay, so now that's taken care of, we grab Sam and--" Dean scanned the loft, his mind pre-registering its contents. "Where's Sam?"

The two men shared a moment of panic, then both caught sight of the rope: stretched from the overhead beam, it ran loosely into the opening of the first silo. "Sam!!" They ran to the silo and gazed down into it.

"If you're done chatting…" Sam stared up from inside the silo. "I'd really like to get outta here." The large cylinder was roughly a third full; Sam stood on the unstable pellets just slightly out of reach.

"I don't chat," Dean stated clearly, "and how the hell did you get down there?"

"Uh…" Sam hesitated on answering.

"Wait! Let me guess," Dean realized, "A cat _pushed_ you in!" Sam grinned at the embarrassing irony.

"If it makes you feel any better," Sam offered, "I lied about it the first time."

"No," Dean said flatly. "No it doesn't make me _feel _better." Ed eyed the rafters as the cats they couldn't get to slowly came back to life.

"We need to get moving," Ed interrupted. "The ones up here are only stunned and the ones down there will find a way up. You get Sam, I'll scout a way out."

"Fine," Dean agreed, "and stop giving me orders." He dropped to his knees and stretched down to grab Sam.

"You won't reach him that way," Ed pointed out. "Besides, you really should start with cutting that rope." He headed off to the far side of the loft.

"I've got this without your suggestions, thanks!" Dean stretched futilely toward his brother; the most he was able to accomplish was a slight ruffling of Sam's already messed up hair.

"Uh, Dean…" Sam began.

"I know, I know. I'll get my knife." Dean pushed himself up and sat scanning the area.

"Hey Dean," Sam called.

"Yeah?" Dean answered absentmindedly.

"At least you know where all the missing cats went." Dean stopped what he was doing, leaned back into the silo, and smiled.

"Thanks Sammy." Sam returned a large grin. "What the hell is that smell," Dean suddenly switched gears.

"It's the cat food."

"It stinks."

"Yeah well, it's not great for standing on either."

"Right," Dean turned back to the loft and this time quickly located his knife. "Be right back!"

Sam sighed long and slow as he waited for his brother to return. He struggled with the tape at his wrists, then quickly got bored and turned his awareness to the silo, its hollow walls were beginning to creep him out.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean yelled. Sam shifted his attention back to the opening; he narrowed his eyes in bafflement as his brother ran spastically back and forth across the loft.

"Dean, what in the hell are you doing?"

"Chasing my knife!" Dean called back.

"That makes sense," Sam muttered. "Well can you hurry up and outrun it already?" He hollered up. Suddenly Dean's head poked back into the opening.

"It's not that easy Sam; it's stuck in a cat!"

"Seriously," Sam replied deadpan, "you gave me crap about Lion-O and now you want me to believe Snarff stole your knife?" Dean gaped in annoyed response.

"Fine," he growled. A sharp series of clicks suddenly sounded through the surrounding area. "What was that?" Dean questioned as he gazed up into the rattling silo.

"Dean!" Sam's voice echoed. Dean suddenly registered the odd swooshing sound and focused in on Sam's footing.

"Holy shit," he gasped. Dean ran to the center railing and gawked down into the grain basin; the first silo, Sam's silo, was emptying out. He booked to the edge of the platform and hung over the side. He could see the release mechanism far back under the loft; it was covered in cats. Somehow their mayhem had managed to open it a notch, releasing the food from the silo and lowering the unstable ground Sam stood on. Dean rushed back to his brother and again tried to reach him.

"I'm too far in! You have to cut it!" Sam yelled. Dean scanned the area for Snarff; he was nowhere to be found.

"There's nothing to cut it with!" Dean eyed the loft. "Hang on!"

Dean stood back and briefly inspected the silo; the moment he found a hold, he jumped onto it and climbed up the side. Several feet up he reached across and grabbed onto the large overhead beam. He hauled himself onto it and edged out to where the rope was tied off. A few seconds and he quickly realized that whatever weird demon method Ed had used to get it up here would require more than prying a couple of knots apart to detach it: he would still need his knife.

"Shit!" He punched a fist into the beam. "Ed!!" Dean called out across the loft searching for the consistently infuriating demon with no results. As he brought his focus back to the rope a sudden weird feeling of being watched passed through him. He turned to look over his shoulder; his least favorite cat was standing on the beam behind him, knife still projecting from its back. "You," Dean growled with venom.

Sam stood with his back against the wall attempting to brace himself for when the ground finally disappeared beneath him. _How the hell did I get myself into this one_, he wondered. Then hoped it wouldn't be the last thing he wondered. Sam went onto his tiptoes as his footing slowly poured out from beneath him. Steadily, the rope pulled taut against his neck and began to choke him. _Where the hell is Dean?_

Two seconds later Dean dropped from the sky and slammed into the floor next to the silo opening. Sam gawked awkwardly upward. It was hard to make out exactly what was happening, but so far as he could tell his brother was fist fighting a cat. Yeah… a cat.

"Die Garfield!!!!" Dean released a long guttural yawp as he promptly punched the cat full on in the face. Within moments he was hanging into the silo sawing at the rope. Sam gasped for air as he tried to decide whether it was him or his brother who was losing their mind. Yes, Dean was finally cutting the rope with his long sought after knife. No, he had not yet managed to remove it from the cat.

"G-gro-ss," Sam choked out as he squinted up at his brother's sick improvise.

Blood dripped down the rope as Dean sliced through the threads. There was only a small two-inch exposed section between the handle and the cat, but he managed just fine. The cat's limbs flailed as the sharp cutting movement occasionally slammed it into the wall; a smirk accented Dean's face as the deep metallic thud rang repeatedly through the storage tower. Things were going well for a total of four seconds, then more clicks sounded through the tower, the below gate opened fully, and what little footing Sam had dropped out from beneath him. The smirk left Dean's face as the quiet sound of his brother choking reached his ears. With one forceful stroke he tore through the remainder of the rope and watched as Sam dropped heavily onto the rushing food pellets. Within moments his brother was swept out of the silo and into the grain basin.

"Sam!" Dean screamed after him. "Ouch! Sonofa--!" Dean dropped his knife and grabbed the back of his hand. Long, bloody scratches marked his knuckles; the cat landed on its feet and ran off. "--bitch." Dean quickly refocused as another series of clicks sounded. He eyed the area warily, then stepped back and placed his hand on the second silo. "Shit!"

Dean ran to the guardrail and leaned over the edge: the second silo was emptying out, shooting a brutal stream of kitty litter into the basin. Sam lay partially buried in cat food near the opening of the silos. The litter swiftly enveloped and dragged him uncontrolled across the basin.

"Sam!!! Dean freaked. He grabbed the rope, climbed over the guardrail, and jumped in. It was a sea of instability. The litter pummeled him in the side as it simultaneously pulled him under. He clung to the rope, coughing through the cloud of kitty litter dust as he searched for any sign of his now buried brother. The smell of litter wafted thickly through the air. "Dude! Even without piss this stuff stinks like hell!"

Dean maneuvered to where he had last seen Sam and plunged a hand in. "Sam! Sammy!" He hung tight to the rope and felt around until something Sammy came into his grasp. With a strained grunt he hefted Sam up out of the litter and re-gripped until he had hold of his upper arm. "Sammy!" Sam's head hung unconscious, pale, and spattered with kitty litter. Given Dean's current position, there was little he could do about it.

He assessed their situation: the silo was empting onto them at a relentless pace and his grip on the rope was steadily slipping. If something didn't change soon, Dean was afraid he might involuntarily use the litter.

"This stinks on so many levels," he grumbled. "ED!!!" He had barely gotten the name out when the gate of the second silo noisily barreled shut, and everything came to a calm. He waited for the litter to settle around them, then released the rope and struggled to pull his kid brother to him. "Sam… Sammy." He dug Sam out and gave him several firm smacks to the back. Sam hacked and coughed out litter, then gasped long, staggered intakes of air. When his system seemed back on track, his eyes wavered open. He gazed around delirious, and after clearly having registered nothing, slipped back into unconsciousness. "Sam?" Dean cupped a hand against his brother's face and tried to rouse him. "Sammy wake up," he instructed loudly; with the exception of some slightly labored breathing, Sam remained unresponsive.

Several shots suddenly fired off from above. Dean turned just in time to see Ed land on the hump of litter behind them; he was covered in scratches and looked oddly exhausted.

"That sucked," Ed admitted dazedly. He shook it off and tried to stand.

"Where were you?" Dean questioned. "Those silos almost killed us!"

"Sorry." Ed held his side and stumbled toward them. "I tried to shut the second one sooner, there was just…" he caught his breath "…a hell of a lot of cats." Dean abruptly realized why the gate had closed. He didn't want to be grateful, but from the tattered look of the guy before him, it wasn't an easy task.

"You okay?" He asked in substitution for a thank you. Ed glanced over, surprised.

"I just got my ass kicked by Hello Kitty. My pride's been better, but otherwise--" Ed eyed Sam. "He okay?"

"I think so." Dean's attention returned to his brother. "He was buried, but I got him breathing." Ed's expression shifted serious.

"Let me see him." He moved to Sam, glanced him over, and gently pulled him from Dean's grasp.

"What are you gonna do?" Ed disregarded Dean. He tugged the neckline of Sam's shirt down and pressed two fingers into the divot just below his collarbone.

"What are you doing?" Dean repeated curtly. "You won't get a pulse there." Ed ignored him. He shut his eyes and stood silent for several seconds, focused on his connection to Sam. Before Dean could turn to impatient freak-out mode, Ed removed his fingers and tousled some of the kitty litter out of Sam's hair.

"He'll be okay," Ed stated. He then turned his attention to the loft.

"What?" Dean questioned roughly. "How do you know? What the hell did you just do?" Ed simply continued to evaluate the loft, but Dean grabbed him and regained his attention. "Ed, what did you do?" Dean insisted.

Ed jerked back to Dean's train of thought. He could practically see the guy's worrisome questions pummeling him for answers. He placed a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"He'll be okay, Dean," Ed repeated calmly. "He will."

"_How _do you know?" Sympathy cut into Ed. There was no simple answer, so he gave more than an answer. He stared into Dean's eyes and pushed the isolated emotions forward.

Dean felt it brush through him: Ed's confidence that Sam was all right, Ed's relief. He backed away calmly, shook off the otherwise good feeling, and slowly accepted that Ed was telling the truth.

"Okay-" Dean blurted with a headshake. "Okay, I believe you."

"Good," Ed said, "'cause we've got other worries." He returned his attention upward. "They've infiltrated the loft; they'll be down here soon."

"Well did you find a way out?"

"I found your shotgun," Ed offered, heading back to it.

"That'll help for a while, but we're still outnumbered."

"I don't think you understand," Ed elaborated. He pointed the double-barreled gun at the back wall and fired off three consecutive blasts. By the time he was done, there was a hole the size of a small refrigerator leading to outside. "I found your shotgun." Ed repeated with a cocky grin.

"If you're not careful, I might actually start to like you," Dean threatened.

"I'm not worried." Ed tossed the handgun to him and headed toward the hole. "Grab your brother, I'll keep us covered." Dean dragged Sam to the wall and evaluated the slightly awkward drop to outside.

"Do you mind?" Dean gestured toward his handgun.

"I've got ya loaded," Ed confirmed.

Dean jumped through the hole and landed softly on the lawn. He remained low as he evaluated the area. It was oddly dark with bouts of fog drifting through the high grass and everything appeared bizarrely blue, but otherwise, all seemed good.

"Do you have him? Do you have him?" Ed repeated in a panic.

"Do I wha-uuup?!?!" Dean stood and turned just in time to be pummeled back to the ground by his brother's runaway body.

"Sorry!" Ed blurted frantically, then contained himself to a more composed whisper. _"Sorry."_

"What are you throwing him at me for?" Dean whispered back as he crawled out from under Sam's chest.

"I thought you had him," Ed continued quietly.

"No I didn't have him."

"Then what'd you jump out there for?"

"The exercise-- I was checking things out first and why the hell are we whispering?!" Dean whispered. Ed jumped down and landed next to him.

"I don't know," he admitted in his normal volume, then smiled awkwardly. Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed his brother. He pulled him off the ground gripping and re-gripping until he had Sam in a very unstable bear hug.

"Ready?" Dean asked.

"You're gonna carry him like that?" Ed worried. Dean re-evaluated what he was doing.

"Probably not," he stated confidently. As Ed crossed in front of them, Dean hefted Sam onto his shoulder. "So what'd you think is up with this?" Dean motioned toward the sky.

"Ya mean why is it dark at 4:30 in the afternoon?" They walked to the edge of the barn. Ed stopped to peer around the corner.

"I mean why is everything blue tinted and distorted with shadows?" Dean hunched under the weight of his brother. "This isn't dark. This is bad B-movie night lighting."

"Day for night."

"What?"

"The film technique you're talking about," Ed turned around. "Its called day for night. It's when they film night scenes during the day."

"Whatever man," he readjusted as Sam almost slipped off his shoulder. "All I know is, it shouldn't look like this."

"Well maybe it comes with the zombie cats," Ed tried.

"What, like a package deal?"

"I guess," Ed said with a shrug. "Look, I think we should walk the perimeter of the barn until we reach the front, then make a break for the house."

"Fine," Dean agreed, slouching awkwardly. "Just watch your pace 'cause, ya know… he's freakishly hugantic."

"Right," Ed acknowledged, and headed toward the front of the barn. "Stay close," he instructed without turning. "I don't trust we're alone out here."

Dean made note as he glanced at the area behind them. It was difficult to see, but he had the unnerving feeling there was something approaching. He stumbled, and again readjusted as Sam continued to slide from his shoulder. There was movement in the darkening fog, he was sure of it, and suddenly his semi-fast pace didn't seem fast enough. He hugged his brother's legs with both arms and picked up the pace, keeping his eyes behind him the entire way.

_SLAM--_

"Ooff!"

"Aguhh!"

Apparently, they had reached the front of the barn.

All Ed had done was stop. Next he knew there was a shove to his back and he was laying face down in the grass at the bottom of a Winchester pileup.

"I think we landed on a cat," he mentioned painfully.

"Sorry-- got distracted." Dean held onto his brother and rolled until they were off the disgruntled demon. He settled Sam on the ground and then rolled onto his back. Reluctantly, he glanced at Ed. Ed remained face down, the thick strands of grass towering past his head. Ed awkwardly reached under his chest, pulled out a stunned zombie cat, and tossed it into the grass somewhere on the other side of Dean's head. He then pushed himself up and promptly glared at Dean.

"When I said, 'stay close'…"

"I know. But I swear there-- what's that look?" Dean asked warily. Ed was staring out into the field, his eyes cautiously studying its contents. "I don't like that look." Dean insisted. He rolled onto his stomach and parted the grass to better his view and see whatever Ed was looking at. "Are those fireflies?" He questioned squinty-eyed.

"No…" Ed responded slowly. "No, I don't think they are."

Moonlight shed from the sky in scattered, diffused rays. It spanned across the field, piercing between the tall strands of grass. Every illuminated spot revealed strange, hovering, golden orbs. They seemed to be set in pairs and were slowly moving closer.

"Cats," Dean groaned with exhaustion.

The word entered Ed's head and he tried to resist the power of suggestion. Annoyingly, the haunting tune crept in anyway.

"Erg…" Dean slowly began to panic. "So you got any ideas here? Ed? You are the one leading this brilliant excursion?"

"What?" Ed snapped out of his head, completely unaware of Dean's queries. "Is it just me, or are you also feeling the onset of passionate hatred toward Andrew Lloyd Webber?" Dean sighed, further exhausted.

"No dude. It's just you."

"Oh…" Ed replied. "That's… disappointing."

* * *

Thanks for reading. Love to hear from you =D

-kate


	15. Chapter 15

Hey! Kate here =)

So this is the 2nd to last posting, which makes next week the FINAL POSTING for EIC!  
YAY! and OMG!!  
I'll have a few things to say next week, it being the final chapter and all_ ... tear... =( _But so next week's lead in isn't stupid long I want to take this space to give my beta the HUGE credit she deserves...

**KAEWI... you are AWESOME! **  
If I had searched I don't think I could have found a better match to be my beta. But I didn't search, I just screwed up my apostrophes in CH 1! You were always super busy with a ton of things on your plate, but no matter what- you have always made time for this story.  
Thanks for all your hard work and feedback!

Also- thanks for inspiring me to write_ 'When Things Go Missing'_- I had a blast with that! ;)

Okay- now, I have a story to tell. So here we go...

* * *

**Energies and Ice Cream**

**CH 15**

"Still wanna make that break for it?" Dean lay in the grass, shoulders tense, eyes vigilantly scanning the pending onslaught of cats. In so many words, he repeated himself. "The house Ed, how are we going to get to the house?"

"Ummmm…" Ed's mouth fell agape with lack of initiative. "This is a lot of freakin' cats," he concluded.

"Ya-huh." Dean concurred. He again scanned the unnatural darkness, then narrowed his eyes. "Wait," he stated in an optimistic tone. He dug through his pants pockets. Shortly after shoving his hand into the front left one, he gripped the device he was looking for.

"You smoke?" Ed blurted in reaction to the zippo lighter Dean pulled from his jeans. Dean glared rudely and clicked the lighter on. Ed gave him a stern, mock concerned look. "'Cause ya know… that shit will kill ya."

"It's for salt and burns!" Dean snapped defensively.

"What the hell are those, some sort of weird, flaming, tequila shots?"

"For corpses, _asshole_," Dean explained with forced patience. "It's for burning corpses." Ed smirked knowingly.

"Sounds stressful," he commented flatly. "No wonder you eat so much pie."

Dean rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the comment as he picked up a short stick and held one end over the flame.

"So you wanna set these things on fire?" Ed eyed him. "Cause I'm thinking the only thing more in our way than a herd of zombie cats, is quite possibly a_ flaming_ herd of zombie cats." Now Dean eyed him.

"I'm thinking…" he corrected, "of what you said earlier, about how the lighting might come with the cats, like a package deal." Dean took the stick, which was now successfully on fire, and tossed it thirty feet at the closest feline. In classic living-dead fashion, it hissed, shielded its eyes, and backed away loathingly. Dean turned to Ed with a triumphant, and slightly smug, smile. "They don't like light!"

"Okay- okay- good work," Ed gave him. "You found a weakness. Now what do you wanna do with it?"

"Well," Dean began smartly, he paused, pulled into calculating thought, "that's all I got," he blurted in conclusion. Ed relinquished a narrow-eyed smile. "Wait!" Dean changed his mind with a finger snap. "A torch! We'll light a torch and use it to clear a path to the house as we go!"

"And do you have a torch in one of your pockets?" Ed mocked.

"No man, I'm just happy to see you!" Dean cracked up hard. Ed stared him down, humorless. "Oh what?" Dean bitched. "_You're_ the only one who's allowed to crack inappropriate jokes?"

"No, I'm the only one allowed to crack_ funny_, inappropriate jokes," Ed stated in a deliberately stoic tone. "Now…" Ed sighed, "about that _torch_. Let me see your lighter."

Dean hesitated, then handed it over. Ed briefly studied its construction; he flipped it open and pulled out the core. "Okay." He took a long, deep breath. "Could you um… hand me that cat please?"

"What?" Dean could only assume Ed meant the cat they had landed on. "You want the--?"

"Cat." Ed repeated uncomfortably. "Hand me… the cat." Dean raised a curious eyebrow and obliged.

"Here."

Ed grabbed the cat and in a real man-handling sort of way, dumped an abundance of lighter fluid onto its back.

"I'm surprised the thing's still stunned," Dean remarked. "We didn't land on it _that_ hard."

"_You_- landed on _us-_ very hard," Ed complained as he pushed the zippo back together. "So kudos- you discovered _two_ weaknesses." He casually wiped the lighter's fuel coated exterior off on the cat's head. "But since you can't _fall_ on every cat in this field," he added, "here." He handed the cat back to Dean. Ed reached for the shotgun. He inspected it briefly, then slightly repositioned his grip so that he was holding it not like a gun, but like a bayonet. "Okay," Ed grimaced and motioned to the cat with a gulp. "Pick an end."

"You're kidding," Dean protested darkly.

"Got a better way of building a torch?" Ed challenged, actually hoping he _did_ have a better way. "Wanna lend me your shirt?" Ed offered. "Got any limbs you'd like set on fire?"

Dean's brow tightened with aversion as he contemplated his non-existent options. He puffed a deep hiss through his teeth and turned the cat around.

"This end," he settled.

"I was afraid you'd say that." Ed moved the tip of the gun toward the end of the cat. He nudged it with little force and made a highly uncomfortable 'ick' face. "Can you like- spread it… open?"

"Dude, you spread it!" Dean opposed. The left side of Ed's face twitched slightly and he tried again. _Boink- boink. Boi..i..ink." _

"I can't." He dropped the gun in defeat. "Too gross. I can already see poo." Ed shook his head in nausea.

"Oh for god sake! Give it to me!" Dean yanked the gun away and quickly shoved the wide double barrel into the cat. "There! I didn't even have to buy it a drink!" Dean mocked gruffly. "Now are we doing this?" He demanded.

"Yeah- yeah-" Ed agreed, still wearing the dislike of his own plan. Dean promptly offered Ed the cat-torch.

"I wouldn't dream of coming between you two." He cut the air with a curt wave. "She's your cat now."

"Good god!" Dean raved. "Fine." He returned the handgun to Ed. "Can you at _least_ carry my brother?"

"At least…" Ed mumbled. He chucked Dean the lighter and crawled over to the larger Winchester.

Dean double flicked the lighter against his leg and had the cat lit and flaming faster than a dried out Christmas tree. He shoved the lighter away as his eyes scanned the cat/torch; the wavering red-orange glow illuminated his expression, an expression which mischievous stated, 'this thing has possibilities'.

By the time Ed had hauled Sam onto his shoulder, Dean was charging the field screaming like a madman. Ed tightened both his grip and expression.

"Great," he sighed. "Now I have to keep an eye on _both_ of them?" He huffed out an exhausted breath and raced into the field. Dean kept the torch swinging outward in a constant one-eighty motion as he furthered himself into the thicket of cats. Ed couldn't be sure if the screeching felines were running from the torch, or from the lunatic waving it, but he supposed it didn't really matter, the path-to-the-house thing seemed to be working.

The crazed hunter was about halfway across when Ed finally caught up. From where they now stood Ed was able to get an even better look at the cat count, it was _way_ out of control; he stopped to catch his breath.

"Crap," he cussed. "Yo pyro!" He alerted Dean. "Could you take it down a notch?" Ed stood awkwardly hunched under Sam's weight.

"Now why would I-- what's wrong?" Dean shifted his question mid thought, he was slightly stunned by Ed's haggard state. "You look totally spent." He accused.

"I'm fine," Ed insisted, straightening up. "But could you heed your own request?" Ed motioned to Sam. "'Freakishly hugantic, or don't you remember?"

"Right," Dean conceded, not entirely convinced. He paused for a moment, studying Ed's face, then shook it off and started to turn back toward the house; he was on the ground before he could finish the motion.

"Dean!" Ed hollered.

Dean lay in a darkened daze. Up his chest, weighty paws crept one by one toward his face. He knew what he was feeling but it was too late to react; the warm, repetitious breath steamed across his neck. He could feel the shotgun lying loosely in his outstretched hand. He opened his eyes and awkwardly tilted his head; the thing was right in his face, balanced on three paws, the forth raised above his throat, claws exposed.

"Stay still," the stern tone instructed. A single shot fired; the cat screeched and tumbled off into the grass. Dean scrambled to sit up, quickly pulling the cat/torch fully into his grip. As he recovered, so did the struck cat: it flipped onto all fours and prepared to attack. Dean shifted quickly, lost his footing mid-motion, and as his muscles jerked in reaction, the shotgun accidentally went off.

Defying physics, the flaming cat shot from the end of the gun and hurled twenty yards across the field. Dean and Ed watched wide-eyed as the blazing beast arched through the darkness and slammed with a metallic thud into the psychedelic painted pick-up truck.

"Holy--" Dean gaped.

"-_-Shit_," cringed Ed.

Their only real means of defense was now lying halfway across the field in the back of the truck bed, slowly smoldering the spray paint decorated bails of hay. Dean grinned sheepishly.

"Opps."

Ed's eyes flickered with disbelief, then narrowed seriously. He raised his handgun, and walking swiftly at Dean, fired toward the young hunter's legs. Dean jumped as the bullets whizzed past his shins and exploded through the cat which had attempted to slash his throat. Ed continued to shoot until the creature was more than stunned: it lay in the blood splattered grass, too much of its insides on the outside. As the final bullet seared through the animal's flesh and penetrated the dirt below, Ed stumbled forward and collapsed onto Dean, Sam's body quickly slipping from his grip.

"Take him- take him!" Ed gasped. Bewildered, Dean grabbed his brother and maneuvered him onto his own shoulder. Ed stood hunched forward, palms on his knees, looking as if he'd just finished a three mile sprint. He huffed heavily as Dean studied him with an evaluating glare. Without changing his stance, Ed glanced up at Dean. "Run," he instructed under his breath. Dean snapped back into the moment. He turned his evaluation process out to the field; the only spot which appeared feline-free was the area surrounding the now dwindling fire in the truck bed. He rounded back on Ed.

"Are you--?"

"Go!" Ed wheezed stridently. He grabbed Dean's hand, crammed the Glock into it, and gave him a good shove on his way. Dean didn't go far, he defiantly held his ground and watched to make sure Ed was capable of following them. With labored breath, Ed scanned the grass, located where the shotgun had been dropped, then made his way to it. He took a moment, stood strongly upright, and in one fluid motion swept his foot beneath the gun, kicked it up into the air, and had it caught and cocked before Dean could blink. Dean shook his head in disbelief: one moment the guy could barely stand, the next he was performing bad-ass tricks?

Ed grasped the gun and turned to discover, with much irritation, Dean still there.

"Dean- what part of move your ass are you_ not _getting here?" He inquired.

"I just--" Dean began defensively.

"No just!" Ed hissed. "Move!"

Dean threw his hand up in a 'why the hell did I bother' sort of way, then turned and ran through the field shooting every cat that moved, which was pretty much every cat. He booked to the truck without looking back. Although part of him wanted visual confirmation that Ed was still behind him, the constant shotgun blasts served as a fairly clear indicator the demon hadn't lagged far behind.

As Dean reached the truck it was instantly clear this was as far as he could go; yellow eyes lined the vast stretch of field which ran from in front of the vehicle to the house. Without hesitation he pulled open the cab door and carefully loaded Sam inside. He climbed over his brother, then grabbed hold and tugged the kid between the bucket seats into the back seat, if you could call the twelve inch, half bench of the back cab a seat. It was a ridiculously small area to fit the ridiculously huge Winchester, but Dean maneuvered his brother until somehow, bunched up as he was, the kid seemed to fit. Through the back window Dean witnessed Ed's staggering approach. There were at least two cats hanging from the demon's limbs and he again looked haggard as hell, as if whatever recovery had occurred at the back end of the field was already spent.

Dean crawled to the open door and hung out it. His expression was serious and focused as he fired off two quick shots straight at Ed. With a 'ping' and a 'pang' the first cat flew off Ed's shoulder, and the second one fell from his left knee cap. Both cats tumbled and disappeared into the tall grass. A large grin spread across Dean's face as Ed gave him a grateful scowl.

"You're welcome," Dean stated triumphantly, overly pleased he was finally able to return the arrogant favor Ed had bestowed upon him several times since they'd met. Ed stumbled the remaining distance to the truck and grabbed onto the swung open door for support. Dean didn't wait for Ed's next move, he hooked hold and tugged him inside the cab. As Ed sprawled, hunched forward onto the dashboard, Dean stretched over him and pulled the door shut.

"Freakzoid… life sucking… cats--" Ed whine-gasped.

"Okay, that's it!" Dean fumed, shoving himself back into the driver's seat. "What's wrong with you?" He demanded. "'Cause you look like crap and I can't drag both his and _your_ ass across this field." Ed glared at him from beneath the refuge of his folded arms. One look and he knew Dean had no thoughts of dropping this. He gave in, caught.

"It's from manifesting," he resigned quietly.

"What?"

"The bullets. Making them expends energy, _my_ energy. A lot of cats means a lot of bullets. We've been shooting these things for over twenty minutes… I'm tired!" He bellowed.

"You're tired." Dean repeated in disbelief. "That's it?"

"That's it," Ed admitted.

"Okay- well there goes _my_ brilliant idea."

"What idea?" Ed asked, curious.

"This thing isn't in that bad a shape" Dean grabbed the steering wheel. "I was hoping you'd be able to, ya know… make it run and just drive us to the house."

"Uhhhhh…." Ed droned on as he glanced the interior.

"What?" Dean urged.

"Does it take regular unleaded or are we talking diesel here?"

"Are you kidding?"

"No." Ed shot back. "If it's just gas and a jumpstart I might be able to handle it, but I'd be spent, you'd have to drive."

"Ha!" Dean scoffed. "Like I'd let _you_ drive! I'm not an idiot. I have a pretty good idea now that it wasn't _Sam_ who crashed my car." Ed looked away revealingly. Dean shook his head. "I knew it!" He gloated. "Sam was_ way_ too eager to take responsibility. I should kick your ass right now."

"Could we schedule the ass kicking for later? I'm afraid it might deplete the remainder of my reserve." Ed pushed himself back into the seat. "Besides, the Skittles were the_ real_ mess and that was totally Sam."

"_Another_ thing I didn't need to be told. And no dice- you're still on my shit list."

"I was already on your shit list," Ed pointed out. "Now shut up and get ready to drive."

"Sure thing Miss. Daisy!" Dean returned without missing a beat.

Ed suppressed his urge to smile; he knew it wasn't the reaction Dean was going for so he instead glared in response to the jibe, then shut his eyes. He took several moments, breathing deep, then reached out and with eyes shut, placed his hand on the dashboard.

"Grrr… fucking diesel," he growled. It was only seconds; the truck roared to life, the headlights shot on, and Dean threw it into gear.

"Take her slow," Ed instructed as he slumped back into his seat. "Keep it under fifteen."

"What! Why?" He protested.

"I hate to admit it, but I guess I'm just hoping to drag out this quality time we've been sharing," Ed returned smartly. "Plus I'd like a nap."

"W_hatever_," Dean scoffed. He stepped on the pedal, taking the truck through the field painfully slow. Ed smiled to himself, then with a heavy breath, closed his eyes. Dean glanced at the tired looking demon, cautiously evaluating; his gaze and thoughts lingered.

"I'm okay," Ed reassured without opening his eyes.

"I wasn't--" Dean quickly dismissed. Ed snickered thoughtfully.

"I'm an energy demon Dean, I can feel your thoughts. I know you're concerned."

"You know what I'm thinking?!" Dean objected angrily.

"No," he corrected coolly, "but I can feel the emotion entrapped in what you're thinking." Dean gave in.

"Fine," he grumbled. Ed smirked.

"Listen," he informed. "While I was starting the truck, I also pre-loaded the guns. If I don't manifest for the rest of the drive I should be able to make it to the house on my own."

"That's helpful," Dean scoffed.

"Hey, I'm doing my best here. The slower you drive, the more time it'll give me to recover, the less six foot sasquatches you'll have to carry."

"I'll keep it_ at _fifteen," Dean compromised. "Now shut up and take your nap."

"Okay Hoke, you drive, I'll nap."

"What'd you call me?"

"Hoke."

"What the hell is Hoke?"

"Hoke," Ed waited for recognition, pointless. "Hoke Colburn," he furthered, "Morgan Freeman's character in 'Driving Miss Daisy'."

"Oh. Yeah, I never actually watched that movie, I just saw the commercials." Ed released one of his exasperated, Dean-induced sighs.

"Of course."

Ed shook his head and leaned fully back in his seat. He relaxed his arms, his chest, his neck, and was just on the verge of recharging when he sensed it. He would not get his nap; Ed sat up straight, stared at the glove compartment of the truck for a total of two seconds, then…

"What the--" he popped the latch. The compartment door fell open and the small mutt of a kitten rolled out and plopped softly into his lap.

"Mew!" The tiny mouth complained. Ed's hands splayed wide in disbelief.

"Batty?! What the--?"

"Meow-reoww-reow- mew mew mew!" The kitten cut him off in explanation. Ed's jaw fell slack.

"You're kidding," he stated doubtfully. Batty's eyebrows squeezed together rudely. "Okay- you're not kidding. But are you sure it was--"

"BreOWe!!" Batty barked with a tiny paw stomp.

"I get it- I get it- he's a killing _machine_," Ed backpedaled. "Geez- who would have thought the kid was actually right?" He scratched the back of his head. "Well, are you okay? I mean- why didn't you--"

"Hold it! Hold it!" Dean interjected crazily. "Are you talking to that cat?" Ed and Batty glanced over, both perturbed.

"You mean… the kitten?" Ed corrected.

"Kitten- cat- whatever- the fur ball."

"Yeah, is there a problem?"

"No, no problem."

"Ya sure? This isn't _weird_ for you is it?"

"Weird?" Dean laughed. "Uh- are you forgetting who I've got for a brother? No. Not weird. It's just- if you can talk to the kitten, then why can't you talk to the zombie cats? Get 'em off our back." Ed stared, then…

"You want me to negotiate with zombie cats? Dean think about what you're suggesting. They're zombies! They don't have free will, they're programmed to attack and attack only." Batty swatted at Ed trying to regain his attention. "Even human zombies don't have thought or speech. We're dealing with reanimated flesh here. A zombie doesn't think, and if it can't think, I can't communicate with it." Dean stared, then…

"Well you don't have to get all technical on me."

"Well you're smarter than that," Ed returned in a 'don't waste my time' sort of tone. Batty continued to swat.

"Oh, like you know how _smart_ I am? Look, forget it, I'll keep my thoughts to myself…_ if_ that's_ possible_!" Dean accused.

"What!?!" Ed freaked.

"Reow!" Batty tried.

"One second Batty- I just _told_ you I can't read people's thoughts, Dean! And if I could I wouldn't bother with yours! I'd need some sort of high-tech filter to strain out the two percent useful thought from the ninety-eight percent you focus on breasts, sex, and _pie!"_

"Ah ha! So you _have_ been in my head!!"

"Geez Dean!" Ed threw his hands up as Batty swatted him wildly. "Batty-- what?!"

"MEowoooo!!"

"What do you mean, 'the truck's on fire'?" Ed questioned skeptically.

Both Ed and Dean looked at Batty, then turned to face the back of the truck. It was indeed, fully and completely a blazing bundle of fiery flames. Both men screamed like a child whose nightlight had gone out in the middle of a nighttime monster attack.

"AAAAGGGHHHHHH!!!!!"

Dean slammed on the brakes, the truck knocked to a halt, and Ed went ballistic; they were still way too far from the house.

"What are you doing?! Don't stop! Gun it! Gun it!!!" He screamed. Without hesitation, Dean stepped full on the gas; both he and Ed tossed back into their seats as Batty bounced up and over the console into the backseat. Ed steadied himself against the truck interior, gripping his finger tips into the grit of the old vinyl seats. As the truck flew across the remainder of the field bumping and careening through the mosh pit of cats, he eyed his driving man with fear. Dean was nothing but in the zone, exerting complete focus and skill as he pegged off cats and pushed the truck to its absolute limit. As the house approached, he continued with the high speed necessary for cat killing. In fact, Ed noted, the rapidly approaching largish structure seemed to have no impact at all on what should have been a logical decision to decrease speed. _Closer… _"Dean…" _Closer…_ "Dean…" _Close._ "DEAN!!!!"

Dean once again slammed on the breaks, the truck skidded with a one-eighty turn and came to a halt with Ed's door mere inches from the edge of the deck.

"Yeaaah!" Dean reveled through gritted teeth. "Close- right?" Dean gave Ed a triumphant smile.

"Yeah- _close_," Ed returned, letting his definition of the word 'close' go self interpreted. Dean turned and hastily began to tug his kid brother from the back seat.

"Kitten?" He offered, shoving a kitty filled fist in Ed's face.

"Thanks." Ed took Batty, dropped her into his lap, then turned to brace his back against the passenger door. Quickly, he surveyed their situation: cats, cats, and more living dead cats. Click_-click_. He cocked the shotgun as Dean finally managed to pull his brother over the seat. "Ready?" He asked.

"Ready," Dean replied, pulling out his handgun. Ed glanced at Batty, then motioned toward Dean. Batty jumped across the seats and landed on Sam's chest.

"Gimme your gun," Ed instructed.

"What?" Dean snipped incredulously. "No!"

"I'm gonna cover you; give it to me."

"Not a chance!" Dean returned. "You can hardly stand! I'm not giving you_ both_ our weapons!"

"Dean!" Ed screamed losing all patience. "We're surrounded by over two-hundred, piss-angry, living-dead cat carcasses with the ones you ran down already re-animating! They're strong! They're blood thirsty! They will stop at _nothing_ until we've fallen! And oh yeah-" as if on cue, the flames fiercely blew out the back cab window- "THE TRUCK IS ON FIRE! GIVE ME- THE GUN!"

Fucking fine!" Dean caved and furiously chucked the gun at Ed's head. "Ya know," the young hunter bellowed, "you've been nothing but a bitch up my ass since you got here!"

"Yeah well," Ed cocked the handgun, and returned an audacious glare, "I'm real sorry to hear about your _ass_ being _bitched-up_… but I've got a job to do!" And with that, he kicked the door open, and jumped out shooting.

* * *

YAY! One chapter to go!  
I've got a rough week ahead and reviews brighten my day!  
Love to hear from you.

Thanks  
-Kate


	16. Chapter 16

Hey everyone-

This has been a long journey. Thanks for sticking around for the end =)

Here it is,  
Exactly one year to the day of the first post, the final chapter...

* * *

**Energies and Ice Cream**

**CH 16**

"Yeah well," Ed cocked the handgun, and returned an audacious glare, "I'm real sorry to hear about your _ass_ being _bitched-up_… but I've got a job to do!" And with that, he kicked the door open, and jumped out shooting.

_Twenty-two truly agitating seconds later…_

It had happened fast; commercials have lasted longer. The transition from the truck to the game room had been almost seamless.

Despite Ed's admitted lack of energy, the moment he exited the truck he was one hundred percent bullets and battle. As Ed kept everyone covered, Dean managed to get himself, Sam, and the kitten into the house. He dropped both brother and Batty onto the sofa then turned just in time to see Ed lunge through the open sliding door. Ed threw down his guns and slammed the sliding door shut. Or rather, he would have slammed it shut had there not been a cat in the way.

"Damn it to--" Ed kicked the cat while he continued to push on the door. As Dean watched it became quickly apparent that Ed was either generously offering his leg up as a scratching post, or the cat was winning.

"Hang on!" Dean ran to the door, brought his foot up, and stomped the cat in the head. As the living-dead animal collapsed into a daze, Dean redirected his foot and kicked. The fuzzy zombie flung out onto the deck and bounced like a fumbled football. Ed slammed the sliding door fully shut, clamped the lock down, and turned to brace his back against the glass. He looked at Dean.

"Do you think this'll--" _!SMACK!_ "--hold?" Behind the glass, dozens of copper eyes glowed in the foreground of dark rolling mist. One by one, the cats threw themselves into the glass.

"Errr--" _!SMACK!_ "--no," Dean concluded curtly.

"Um--" _!SMACK!_ "--okay."

The demon pushed from the door and hurried to the pool table. "Grab the other end!" Agreeing with what Ed seemed to be going for, Dean grabbed the other end of not the table itself, but of the large wooden table top cover. They maneuvered the wall of wood over the glass doors and dropped it in place, then stepped back to assess: both men folded their arms across their chests and gave a stern nod of approval.

_**!!SMACK!! **_

Both men jumped and scurried without discussion back to the pool table. They grabbed and pushed the large, solid wood table flush against the covered doors. The table was heavy and once in place, left them with a strong confidence that anything wanting entrance into the room would have to find another way.

Realizing that…

"I'll check upstairs." Dean flew through the room and up the basement stairwell. He had it open for a total of half a second when he slammed it shut.

"Shit. They're in the house!" He informed Ed loudly. Ed, accompanied by Batty at his heels, rounded the corner from the lower room and walked casually up to meet him. Batty hopped onto the top landing, sniffed at the door, then laid down to take a nap. Ed noted her lack of enthusiasm.

"Comfortable?" He asked. She glanced up briefly then put her head back down and shut her eyes. "Well that answers that," Ed concluded offhand.

"Hello?! Can we get back to the barricading?" Dean questioned impatiently.

"Right." Ed sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm trying to figure out what to do here. Ya know… big picture."

"Big picture?" Dean projected. "Let me paint it. You. Me. Bending over- taking it up the ass by a bunch of living-dead cats."

"Remind me not to attend any art exhibits where _you're_ the artist. Look. This can't last forever- it just… can't. We'll barricade ourselves in and then figure it out. Between the two of us we should have enough experience and smarts to come up with _something_."

"Okay," Dean agreed, "but when_ something_ goes terribly wrong and this game room begins to resemble a crypt, I get dibs on ALL the alcohol."

"Look just-- _I'll_ work on barricading the door," he placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, "_you _take care of your brother."

_Sam,_ Dean thought. In all the commotion, he had almost forgotten where things had been left with Sam. A shiver dropped through his body like a tough shot of whisky downed after a hard life's work.

"Sure," he agreed in an almost reluctant tone, and walked down the steps to where he had dumped his kid brother off on the couch.

Dean stood silently at the end of the sofa looking down at where Sam lay, tossed onto its thick grey cushions. He moved to the coffee table, slid the remotes off onto the floor, and sat down. He stared at his brother for a moment, then shifted his gaze up toward the bar. The florescent light, affixed somewhere under the paneling, cast an eerie blue-green glow through the bottles and out into the room; it flickered briefly, then settled in at a slightly dimmer glow. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and returned his gaze to Sam. The kid was pale, vulnerable looking, and still- _too still-_ for Dean's liking. He wanted a timeframe, he wanted to know just how long his brother had been out for: ten minutes, fifteen, longer? He scrubbed his face uneasily and leaned toward the couch.

Reaching out, he pressed two fingers into the crook of Sam's neck, shifted them, pressed harder, and the slow, even thumping he was searching for pulsed against his fingers. He sighed sternly, hesitated, then glanced at the far end of the room; Ed was up on the stairs, well out of sight. Dean turned back to his brother. He slid his fingers down under the edge of Sam's shirt and into the crow's nest of his collar bone. It was warm, with a faint beat, but there was nothing new, nothing that added information which could console or enlighten him. Embarrassed and impatient, he withdrew his fingers.

Dean shook his head, disgusted with himself.

"Take care of him?" He berated. "Yeah right." His arms tightened across his chest. His jaw clenched in its sockets. His eyes narrowed, vision set: on Sam's wrists, on Sam's ankles, on Sam's chest. That tape- _that fucking tape_- wrapped around his kid brother like something out of a horror movie. He stared at it feverishly. Stared until his vision blurred. Stared until it took on a persona of its own. Until that tape was like the enemy itself.

Dean stood and stalked furiously toward the bar. He moved behind it and searched: searched the shelves, searched the drawers, searched the cabinets. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

"fuck. Fuck. FUCK! I've had it!" He grabbed a drawer from below the bottles, yanked it fully out, and dumped its contents across the top of the bar. Within three seconds of shoving through the mess he concluded the effort futile. "Damn it to hell! This is ridiculous!" He roared. And with that, swiped his arm across the bar and sent everything, including the drawer itself, spiraling out into the room.

"DEAN!" The harsh tone erupted out of nowhere. The hunter turned abruptly to find Ed standing by the edge of the couch, remnants of the drawer scattered at his feet. "What the _hell_ are you doing?" He grilled crossly.

"What am I--?" Dean gawked at the demon as if it where him who'd lost control. He rounded the bar and menaced up in Ed's face continuing to shout. "I'm looking for a knife, or a pair of scissors, or_ anything_that can cut this freakin' nut job tape you've got him wrapped in!" Ed sighed evenly.

"Dean, calm down."

"Calm down? You want me to fucking calm down?" Dean grabbed him by the shirt. "This is bullshit! Why'd you tape him up like this? Huh? Why? For your plan? So that he'd talk? Well he's not talking, he's not even waking up! So find me a god damn knife, 'cause I want it OFF him!!"

Ed looked down and calmly stared at the way Dean's hands were clinched into the fabric of his shirt; he looked back up.

"I don't have a _knife_, or _scissors_, or anything that can _cut that_." Ed pressed with finality. "So I'm sorry Dean, but you're going to have to calm down… _and deal_."

"No-" Dean shook his head. "No, that's crap." He shoved off of Ed and pushed his way to a small desk in the far corner of the room. "There's gotta be something." He ripped the drawers out of the writing table one by one, finding each completely empty.

"There isn't Dean," the demon insisted. Completely ignoring him, Dean turned his attention to a bookshelf. "Dean--" He pulled books off, shoved his hands behind delicate ceramic figures, and knocked over picture frames. "Trust me, there's nothing." Ed continued.

"No--" Dean shook his head in rejection.

"Dean--"

"No--" He glanced the room in frustrated denial.

"Dean," Ed placed a forceful hand on his shoulder. "Let it go."

"I can't let it go!!!" Dean erupted as he swiped Ed's grip from his shoulder. "I can't-- and you _know_ I can't!" His breath huffed sharply from his chest as the accusation burst from his lips. "Don't you! It's why you did this! Taped him up again! You're screwing with me!!"

"Dean--"

"You are!! Cause you know!!!" His words slowed. "Cause you _know…_" Dean stared at him, venomous. "You _know_ what I went through that first night. You wanted me to go through it. You set it up- ALL of it- you had to!" His voice burst again as he remembered. "Forty-five minutes for a fucking ambulance?! For a fucking cop?!! For fucking anybody!?" He gave a dry laugh then seized Ed and slammed him against the wall. "What did you do to delay them?" He interrogated gruffly. "Huh Ed? What!? What lengths did you go to keep us there- _alone_?"

His grip was relentless, but as no response came, the hunter's hold gradually dropped away; he gradually dropped away. Distraction took over- thoughts- images- and bit by bit his memory evoked every painful sensation from that night. A wound was reopened, and the words slipped from it.

"You…" he spoke numbly, as if in two places. "You made me sit there-- all that time- holding his wound --_holding him-_- and I couldn't do a thing- not a god damn thing except wait- wait, and think about how _angry he was_ that I gave him shit about coming after him, and how _angry he was_ that I couldn't cut that damn tape off him- and knowing- _knowing_- that the_ real_ reason he was pissed -wasn't because of the phone call- or because of the tape- but because I'd sent him out there in the first place- for fucking ice cream- for fucking nothing!

"Well I'm sorry! He'll never believe how sorry! But I was sorry then and I suffered then! I suffered at the convenience store, and I suffered at the hospital, and I've sure as hell suffered for the past two and a half weeks with the lies and the avoidance and the repeated times he went missing- so enough! Don't keep making me look at him bound in that tape! Don't keep throwing it in my face what a letdown I am to him!"

His breath pulsed through the room, rippling an almost visible angst to its furthest corners and back. He could feel it against his skin, between his fingers, on the back of his neck: an enraged energy that connected everything. Gradually it dissipated, silently lost mass, and all that remained was himself, and Ed.

Ed stood against the wall, arms folded, expression calm, the faint spark of accomplishment in his eyes. For a moment he did nothing, then he reached behind his back and retrieved what had been so strategically concealed. He offered it forward: a knife, Dean's knife, bright and shining, ready for use.

"Sonofabitch," Dean gasped. He stepped forward and snatched the blade from the demon's hand. He shook his head in true aversion, then turned to face the other side of the room. He stopped cold.

Awake, Sam sat edged up on the couch, his wounded gaze hurting straight across the room- straight into Dean.

"Sam…" He tried to get a grip, tried to absorb just how much his brother had heard. "Sammy I--"

"Dean no," Sam stopped him. "You…" With disbelief, "Forty-five minutes?" He looked to his sibling for answers, for reason. Nothing came but a diminished shrug. "Dean, why didn't you--? I mean you never--"

"You were hurt," Dean justify flatly. "It didn't matter what I'd been through." Sam felt the slash of his brother's selfless logic.

"That's crap," he returned bluntly.

"Excuse me?"

"I said it's crap," Sam repeated in total frankness. "It _does_ matter what you've been through, Dean. It matters because I put you through it."

"Sam, whatever you're--"

"Dean I _caused_ this!" Sam avowed firmly. "I caused it and put you through hell!"

Completely staggered, Dean ceased his efforts; the knife lowered to his side, and he surrendered to silence.

"Dean you-- you may have given me a hard time, but all I needed to do was talk to you, just stand up and--" Sam took a heavy breath "--but instead I lied, and evaded, and knocked every effort you've made to fix things. And you have tried… you have. It's just… on the phone that night, after I'd been shot, when you wouldn't listen, when you wouldn't--"

"Sam forget it," Dean blocked. "Just--"

"No, no _listen_ to me-- I _wanted_ you to suffer, Dean! I did! I _wanted _to punish you and that's exactly why I hung up! But later, when you asked me about it, I didn't… it just snowballed, one thing after the other until I was deeper and deeper, and no matter how I looked at it, I just-- I couldn't see coming out of it without you being furious with me." Sam looked down at his bound hands, at just how far this had gone. "I could have stopped this so many times," he admitted desperately, "but instead I fought you, constantly, because I wanted you to be sorry… because I wanted to punish the hell out of you for being-- for being a fucking jerk."

Sam's words closed out into silence.

long…

_awkward_…

silence.

Eventually, Dean took a breath.

"Ooo-kay then." He exhaled curtly. "Good. Good to know."

"_Dean..." _Sam groaned.

"No. No," his bruised ego insisted. "I'm a jerk. You're right. I deserve what I got."

"That's not--"

"Don't sugar coat it Sammy," Dean belabored. "I'm a jerk- so just- I'm a jerk."

"You are a jerk," Sam confirmed. "But you're also," he sighed indecisively, then conceded, "you're also my hero, Dean."

"What?" Dean downplayed dumbly.

"You need me to repeat it?" Sam griped. "Fine- _jerk._ You're my hero! Okay?"

"I uh…" Dean stuttered. "I- er um…"

"Don't hurt yourself Dean. Look just- what's so hard here? I mean, this can't be a surprise."

"Err…"

"Dean," Sam scolded. "You're my big brother. Come on! I've looked up to you my whole life." Dean wandered to the edge of the couch, lightly kicked at its underside in an offhand sort of way, then modestly relinquished.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Sam laughed wryly at his brother's sudden lack of arrogance. "Yeah Dean, _okay_, but that's exactly why it-- well it _sucks_ when you boss me around. I mean, you treat me like crap, completely disregard what I'm thinking or doing, and I just stand there and take it because I'm afraid if I don't--" Sam suddenly and seriously dropped his thought. Dean gauged him.

"What?"

"It's stupid," Sam dodged warily. Dean stepped around the edge of the sofa and sat down on the coffee table. His kid brother glanced over and timidly stared at him through mussed bangs. Dean shook his head.

"Sammy," he pressed. "Whatever it is, man just say it." Sam tensely tugged at a string on his jeans.

"Well I guess," his words trudged forward like forced footsteps, "sort of my whole life I've felt like if I don't- ya know- keep in check. If I don't do every stupid little thing you tell me that you'll-- well maybe you won't…"

"Won't what? That I won't_ like_ you?" Dean sarcastically filled the blank.

Sam glanced over, hesitated nervously, then came clean with a simple shrug.

"Are you serious?!" Dean burst with astonishment. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, yet he knew there was truth to it. He coughed out a dry laugh. "Sammy, look, I can't believe you've got me saying this, but… there isn't anything you could do- or _not_ do- that would stop me from liking you. Ever."

"I know," Sam mumbled as he continued to play with the shredded string.

"Yeah well… then quit all this shit," his brother argued. "Seriously Sam. If I'm pissing you off, stand up to me. If I'm outta line- put me _in_ line. I may not like it- but won't _not like_ you." Sam gave a small nod. "What was that?" Dean pushed. Sam rolled his eyes and with an aggravated yank, popped the string from his jeans.

"O-_kaay_," he conceded loud and long. "I get it." He flicked the string onto the floor and tossed exasperated eyes onto his sibling.

"Good," Dean stated determinedly. He paused for a moment, then without hesitation, smacked his brother in the head. "Idiot," he jeered.

"Jerk," Sam returned.

"Yeah, so I've heard." Dean jabbed smartly. "Now shut up and hold still." He edged closer to the couch. "Let's get this tape off you."

With much effort Dean sliced through the defiant tape at Sam's chest. He steadily sawed the blade through its full width, then grabbed hold and began to yank it free one tedious inch at a time. Sam gritted his teeth and quietly endured until the final section was ripped from his bare arms.

"Damn, that was a bitch to get off you," the older hunter grumble. He wadded the bulk of tape into a large tangled ball and tossed it behind him. Grabbing his knife back up, he motioned for his brother to turn toward him. "Okay- wrists," he instructed.

Sam held his hands out and kept them steady as his brother slid the knife between his wrists and began to cut. The binding was thick and responded as if the wrong side of the blade were being used. Sam blew the hair out of his eyes and tried to sit patiently. He stared at the floor, then at the couch, and finally located a semi-interesting hole in the cushions. He studied it for an extended moment, then looking up, realized his brother had stopped cutting.

Dean just sat there, the knife resting lifeless within his grip, the job it had begun turned nothing but an empty chore. His total focus lay fixed upon the tape, staring at the dull, silver adhesive as if it had said something to him, as if it had stepped forward and unkindly reminded: 'you were wrong'.

"You really did let him tape you up." The matter of fact comment spilled out suddenly. "Didn't you?" Dean raised his head and met his brother's eyes. Sam felt sick, but could only answer the truth.

"Yeah," he confessed quietly. Dean shook his head and huffed out a small breath.

"Ya know… Ed said you would," he admitted. "He swore to it, but- I wouldn't believe him." He glanced at his brother. "He also said… well he said you had a_ need _to be rescued by me, by your big brother." An uncomfortably flattered smile spread across his face. "Crazy right?" The smile broke and his words slipped into that of a confession. "Except it kind of stuck with me, ya know? Why would you want that? Why would you want to be in so much trouble that you'd need me to come get you out of it?" He stopped for a moment, contemplating what he hated suspecting. "Unless… unless you weren't sure I _would_ come get you out of it."

Sam looked away. It was such a small action, such a small, totally revealing action.

"Sammy…" he treaded carefully. "Did you… did you need to see if-- well if I'd _worry_ about you? Because I did," Dean admitted bluntly, "I worried like hell." His voice broke on the last word and faded to silence.

Dean waited; Sam said nothing. The kid was paralyzed, utterly: small gasping breath wracked his upper body, his eyes hollowed to an inward void, emotion pulsed in concentrated waves, everything he was -- turned outward.

Sam coped, and Dean watched, and with passive understanding, came altered introspective. Within moments Dean understood exactly what Ed had meant when he'd said: _'I can feel your thoughts'_. It wasn't some weirdo demon trick, it was simple awareness. If he focused, if he paid attention, he could feel what his brother was going through; translating that into actual thoughts wasn't exactly the task of a messiah. Dean reached out and placed a caring hand on his kid brother's shoulder.

"Hey," he said gently. "It's okay." Sam slowly looked over, apprehension shaking him. "I get it," Dean assured, "I do." He smiled. "I uh… I don't exactly show that I care in very--" he cleared his throat, "straight forward ways."

There was a prolonged silence. Sam shook his head in amazement, then relief and gratitude slipped from him in the form of laughter. He smiled at his brother's out of character confession.

"Yeah well," he broke though the heavy mood, "you _did_ share your pie last night." "That's right," Dean agreed excitedly. Then, with a finger snap, "And my fork!" He reminded. "Don't forget the fork!" Unable to help himself, Sam cracked up.

"Yeah, your fork," he laughed. "I didn't forget."

Sam scratched the back of his head awkwardly, his bound hands doing the best they could; he dropped them back into his lap and looked over at his brother. Dean casually spun his knife in dangerous circles on the coffee table. He glanced up mid-spin.

"We okay?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "Yeah, we're good."

Dean hesitated, then-

"_You_ okay?"

"Yeah," Sam's breath caught in his throat, "yeah, I am… _thanks_."

"Okay," Dean replied with a trace of scrutiny. He flipped his knife up into his hand, took a beat, then beamed gloatingly. "So… I'm your hero, huh?"

"Dean…" Sam groaned and flopped back onto the couch.

"Don't be embarrassed Sammy. I know I was modest earlier, but I can see where it's hard for you to deny my superhuman, godlike qualities on a daily basis." Dean mugged his godlike qualities for his brother's benefit.

"De-e-ean……." Sam mock cried and banged his head against the couch cushions.

"So is it a bad ass Dark Knight thing I'm sporting?" Dean persisted zealously. "Or are we talkin' 007: sophisticated and deadly?" He looked to Sam in eager anticipation.

"More like, 'Knight Rider'," Sam stated factually. "The eighties version."

"Dude, don't even_ try_ to compare the Impala to freakin' K.I.T.T.!"

"I wasn't really comparing… the _Impala_."

"Good! Because there's no comparison! Although it'd be cool if I could call her by talking into my watch," Dean realized. "Of course, I'd have to _get a watch…_" he distractedly ran the scenario.

"Dean!" Sam broke through impatiently. "Little brother, still bound in tape here!" He waved his linked wrists in his brother's face.

"Oh, right," Dean remembered.

He slipped the knife between Sam's wrists and began to cut. Without resistance, the blade slid clear through, clean and easy. The boys glanced at one another, a bit perplexed. Sam eyed the tape as Dean grabbed hold and gave it a sharp yank; it pulled free in one smooth, painless motion.

"Well that was… _easier_," Sam offered.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "_easier_."

A scowl of mistrust shaped the older hunter's forehead. He pursed his lips, grabbed his brother's feet, and swept them onto the coffee table with a heavy clunk. Sam's knees propped up at an angle and he fell back against the couch. Through messy bangs he watched as his brother guardedly stuck the knife into the tape. With no additional effort, it tore straight up the middle, curled away from his legs, and fell to the floor.

Dean gaped at it for one silent moment, then-

"Oh come on! Are you kidding me!?" He stood and threw up his arms, completely livid. "So what, Ed gets his little _talk_ out of us and the tape just falls off you!?" Sam glanced around. "Sonnofa--"

"Where is Ed?" Sam worried suddenly.

"What?" Dean took in his brother's expression and did his own room glance. "He was right over…" Dean motioned to the wall he had left Ed leaning against.

"Ed!" Sam hollered as he stood up.

Dean took off toward the only concealed part of the room. He turned the corner to the stairwell, but half a second later was back.

"He's gone," Dean announced shortly. Before Sam could react, his brother's expression shifted. "Wait a minute," he grumbled in an uncertain tone. Dean ran to the deck doors and peered through a crack in the barricade. "Oh you can't be serious," he protested.

In one, hard shove Dean pushed away the wooden table cover to reveal the view through the clear glass doors: late day sun brightened the light blue sky, the field stretched back to the barn, its tall yellow grass waving in the breeze, and in the middle of it all, the colorfully painted pick up truck sat filled with equally colorful bales of hay. In short, everything was back to exactly the way it had been.

Dean straightened his posture, tightened his fists, and exhibited restraint.

"I'll kill him," he stated factually. Sam came to the door and gazed out it.

"What?" He questioned, completely out of the loop. "Dean, what are you looking at?" Dean shoved open the glass door, stepped out onto the deck, and absorbed it all from a slightly closer point of view.

"I'm going… to kill him," he sustained.

"Dean, what's going on?"

"You wanna know what's going on? I'll tell you what's going on: ED! _That's_ what! Your stupid Guardian Demon!" Dean's limit burst. "I can't believe I-- GRRR!" He threw his hands wide, fingers hooking into the anger infused air. "This thing!" He bellowed. "This WHOLE thing!! The zombie cats! The- the freakish B-Movie night lighting! The barricading ourselves in! It was all him, Sam! All part of his great big plan- his great big trap- to grant your wish!"

"Dean, are you sure," Sam questioned skeptically, "I mean…"

"Fuck yeah I'm sure! The cats showed up the second I blew our cover! He wasn't waylaid, he was fucking prepared!" Dean reasoned. "The bastard knew he couldn't trust me! Those things were his god damn back up plan!"

"Uh.. okay," Sam semi-accepted, "but--"

"_Awwww-_ and the bullets!" He realized with a head slap. "Fuck. He wasn't tired from manifesting ammo, he was freakin' exhausted because he was a walking battery pack for a field full of fur-balls!"

"Battery wha-?"

"And I went along with it," Dean bitched, "ALL OF IT! I played along like some stupid… idiotic…"

"Jerk?" Sam interjected.

"You really gotta stop calling me that," Dean warned, dead pan. "But yeah… jerk."

Dean walked to one of the deck chairs and slumped down into it. He gazed out at the field and shook his head dejectedly.

"Dean," Sam tried, "Dean, come on. You had no choice, man," he insisted solidly, "and you_ did _question it. You asked him flat out and he said the cats weren't his. You went along with it because you had to, because the only way to figure this out, was to ride it out."

"I guess," Dean pouted. Sam crossed his arms against his chest and raised an eyebrow. Dean rolled his eyes. "FINE," he agreed. "Fine. I _had_ to," he conceded with a sigh. "I just… arrgh!" Dean pushed out of the chair and stomped across the deck. "He makes me so freakin' mad!"

"I can see that." A very amused smile spread across Sam's face.

"It's not funny, Sam. You were out for half of it. You didn't see all the_ crap_ he put me through: ordering me around, blowing holes in walls, acting all cool, like he's the man. He's not the man, Sam! He's not even_ a_ man!" Sam shook his head, completely taken aback.

"Dean, what's your deal?" He issued in an accusatory tone. "Ed was only doing his job, what I summoned him here for. And it's not like we made it easy for him, either. We were kind of a pain in his ass."

"That's it Sam, keep defending him!"

"I'm not defending him. I'm just saying--"

"I know what you're saying."

"Wha--" Sam faltered, "what am I saying?"

"You're gonna miss him!" Dean concluded, short and annoyed.

"I'm-- Dean. Come on man-- I'm not…"

"Oh admit it Sam," Dean turned on him. "I saw the look on your face when you realized he was gone."

"Dean I--" Sam wavered, caught. "What does it matter? I mean--"

"It doesn't," Dean relinquished. "Forget it." He shoved a lawn chair out of his way and made for the stairs to the upper deck. "Let's just get our stuff and get outta here." He headed up the stairs.

"Uh… okay," Sam resigned. "If you want, but I--" Sam's voice cut short as the totally insane realization hit him. "Holy shit," he gasped. Dean stopped at the sound of Sam's insight infused curse words and turned around.

"What?" He asked curtly. A stunned smirk tugged at the corner of Sam's mouth. Dean's expression soured. "Sam- what?!"

"Are you…" Sam ventured, "are you _jealous_?"

"What?!" Dean blurted uncomfortably. "Are you smokin' rock salt? There is absolutely-- " _searching_ "--you're crazy!"

"You are!" Sam shouted, practically jumping with giddiness. "You're jealous!"

"I am not jeal-- Sammy you take that back right now!"

"HA!" Sam punched out verbal laughter. "Look at you! You can't even deny it!"

"There's nothing to-- that's the stupidest--" Dean flustered into a complete loss. "No pie for you!" He burst abruptly, and with that, turned and stomped his way upstairs.

After several moments, Sam shut his gaping mouth. He leaned back against the wooden slats of the house, combed both hands through his hair, and shook away his extended disbelief.

"Huh." He smiled to himself. "Dean _jealous_… of Ed." He laughed slightly, then his humor sank. _Of Ed_, he remembered sadly. Sam pushed himself off the house and turned to look back through the sliding doors, back into the game room. His eyes panned the stagnant space from corner to corner. Nothing had changed; it remained in the slight mess of which they had left it. He placed a hand on the cool metal frame of the door and slowly pulled it shut.

* * *

"You almost ready?" Dean called from the bathroom. He tossed a few stray toiletries into his bag, zipped it shut, and came to the door. "Sammy!" His voice jolted in a 'snap out of it' tone. Sam broke from his thoughts and looked at his brother.

"Huh?" He asked vacantly.

"I said 'are you ready?'"

"Oh," he replied. "Uh… yeah. Just a couple more things."

"Cool." Dean flung his bag out onto the bed and shut himself into the bathroom.

Sam turned back to the dresser and tried to remember what it was he was doing. One of the drawers was open. He grabbed the socks from its dark wooden interior and tucked them into his bag. Giving the drawer a quick check for missed objects, he shoved it shut and pulled open the one above it. Shirts, he curled his hand around a large stack and pulled them to his bag. In the process something heavy and metal clunked out onto the wood. Sam stared at his handgun: there it was, right where he had put it, not missing or moved as it had been when Ed faked him out only an hour earlier. He brushed away his feelings and placed the gun with the rest of his stuff.

Sam shoved the drawer shut and walked to the bed. He picked up the rest of his things and whatever else he could carry. His brother exited the bathroom with a distracted look and wet hands; he wiped them on his jeans.

"I'm heading down," Sam informed. Dean didn't respond. Instead he plowed through the contents of the room: he tossed up comforters, flung towels out from under dressers, and finally got down on the floor and splayed his body perfectly flat against it. Sam narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing?"

"My jacket," Dean updated from under the bed. "I can't find my leather jacket." Sam had completely forgotten, and even now sort of wished he hadn't remembered. "It's not in the car," Dean eliminated, "it's gotta be here."

"Uhhhh…" Sam droned reluctantly.

"What?" Dean cross-examined as he popped up from behind the bed. "Have you seen it?" Sam evaded the subject as he slowly backed from the room.

"You might wanna," he made a run for it, "check_under_that_chair_!"

"What chair?" Dean shouted. "What chair!!!?"

Sam was halfway out the screen door when-

"**SONNOVOBITCH!!**" His brother's voice rattled through the house and practically threw him from it like a hero tossed to the sky in the last seconds of a well timed explosion.

"Guess he found it," Sam snickered as he stumbled down the porch steps and out into the yard.

As he reached the Impala the aftermath of everything fell stagnant and he gazed upon the yard. He couldn't believe all that had happened, how long it had dragged out, and then how suddenly it had all come to an end. He braced his things under one arm and opened the trunk.

Looking inside, trying to find room, he wondered how Ed had successfully shoved him in there. Quickly, he decided not to think about it. He tossed his bags amongst the wreckage of stuff and prepared to close them inside. As he reached for the trunk he stopped short, smiling warmly as he felt it.

"Hey Batty," he greeted without looking down. The small kitten continued to brush against his ankle as Sam stooped to the ground and picked it up.

"Mew," the cat talk came followed by a content purr as Sam scrubbed his fingers behind its ears. He stood back up and curled the soft kitten to his chest.

"How ya doing?" He asked, making conversation. "It's good to see you." He stalled for a moment then, "you wouldn't happen to know where Ed is, would ya?" Ignoring the question, the kitten continued to purr, licked the edge of his finger twice, and tucked itself comfortably into the palm of his hand.

"Yeah, didn't think so," Sam concluded dejectedly. He reached up and pulled the trunk shut.

"Didn't think what?" The recognizable voice came out of nowhere.

Sam looked up to find Ed standing directly in front of him, dramatically revealed by the closing of the trunk.

"Ed!" He gasped.

"Hey kid," he greeted with a smile. "What did you think, I'd leave without saying goodbye?"

"Well…" Sam bashfully averted, "it was sort of looking like that."

"Never," Ed stated firmly. "I just wanted to give you and your brother some alone time."

"More like you didn't want to be there when he freaked out," Sam figured. Ed laughed.

"Actually," he smirked, "I was sort of sorry to miss that part." Sam cracked up. "He's a good guy… _your brother_." Ed stated in an indisputable manner. Caught by the sudden sincerity, Sam took a moment and truly thought about it.

"Yeah," he agreed with a shy smile, "he is."

"And you're lucky to have him," Ed added.

"Yeah," really realizing, "I am."

"But…" Ed amended mischievously; Sam raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sorry I put him through all that." He reached out and pet Batty. "I mean, come on, I deserve _some_ job perks." Sam pretended to consider it.

"I guess." He shrugged flippantly.

"You guess?" Ed exclaimed, highly insulted. Sam kept a straight face as long as he could, then broke into laughter. Ed shook his head at his own arrogance infused gullibility.

"Nice, kid."

Sam grinned proudly. He glanced down as Batty stood up in his hands and began to squirm. Gently, he dropped the kitten onto the trunk and watched as it leapt to the ground and scruffed at Ed's ankles.

"Hey um…" he scraped the back tire of the Impala with the tip of his shoe, "sorry if this was such a hard job for you." He looked up and straight at Ed. "What I mean is... sorry if I made it hard."

Recognition struck Ed and his stance softened.

"Kid," his eyes turned sympathetic, "you always did the best you could- through every moment of this- _you did_," he added with assertion. He took a breath and chose his words decisively. "You just-- you were focused on the wrong things- on the wrong goal-"

"On the wrong wish?" Sam guessed. Ed gave a small, knowing smile. "I was thinking about it," Sam confided, "while I was packing my stuff, about what it was I _really_ wanted that night. About what I've really wanted this whole time." He stared off pensively. "That talk- it was about me, wasn't it?" He looked to Ed. "None of this was about changing Dean; it was about changing myself."

An unfamiliar sort of pride swept Ed; he sized up the young man before him.

"And have you?" He asked earnestly. "Sam, what I'm asking is- was that talk a one time thing, or are you going to speak your mind, and be who you are, and not worry that saying or doing the wrong thing might push away the people who care about you?" Ed thought of the last few weeks, of all the times he had been knocked off his game, of the irrational empty feeling which tugged at his insides. "Because people _do_ care about you." He pushed the words out in a shaky declaration, intentionally letting Sam understand him-_ really_ understand what it was he was saying.

"They do?" The kid ventured hopefully.

"Yeah," Ed confirmed with a bitter-sweet smile. "Yeah kid... they care about you a lot."

An aching mix of feelings wrenched through Sam. He shoved his hands into his pockets, bit his lower lip, and not for a second attempted to hide how he felt. Sparse tears ran down his cheek as a mass of emotion shuddered through him. He worked his mouth as if to say something, when nothing came out, he dug deep, pulled up his nerve, and--

with a severe slam the screen door flung open.

"Stupid cats!! I hate them!! ALL of them!!"

Sam suddenly found himself twisted around, watching as his older brother stomped down the front porch steps tantrum style. He exhaled roughly, annoyed almost, and turned back to the moment he had been so unfairly pulled from:

Ed was gone.

Sam didn't bother to search, he knew that was it, the last appearance. He brushed the evidence of tears from his eyes and sighed miserably. It was time to return to life.

Dean stalked across the yard, straight to his brother.

"This is crap," he complained flat out. "That stupid kitten did this and I'll kick its tail to hell and back if I ever set eyes on it again!" Sam didn't respond, he barely even listened as he turned around and sat against the trunk of the Impala. Dean thrust his leather jacket into his kid brother's face. "Smell my jacket, Sammy!" Sam skillfully dodged the stink coat as he kept to his thoughts. "It smells like sour milk!" He bitched. "And that's after scrubbing it with a towel for five minutes! Damn it!" He whipped around his brother, opened the back driver side door, and threw his stuff onto the seat. "How am I supposed to pick up chicks, smelling like cat vomit?" He grabbed the door and began to slam it shut, then held up. Narrowing his eyes, Dean ducked his head into the back of the car. After a moment he popped back out and rushed to the front left headlight. "Hey," he exclaimed, "my car's fixed!" He stuck his head through the open driver side window. "And it's clean!" He pulled his head back out. "Well, not really _clean_- but it's back to the way it was."

Dean stepped forward with a big grin and rested his hands on the open door of the Impala. He waited for a response and then realized one wasn't coming.

"Sammy?" He lightly pushed the back door shut and walked to the edge of the car. "Hey- you okay?" He asked. "Sam…" he placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, finally breaking the kid from his thoughts. Sam turned, slightly unsettled. "You alright?" Dean tried again. Sam gave a short nod.

"Yeah," he relinquished quietly. Dean knew what was bothering him, and that there was little he could do about it. He gave his brother's shoulder a hefty shake, followed by a light punch.

"Come on," he said, smiling encouragingly. He waited for Sam to give another nod, then walked off and returned to the car.

Sam remained seated against the trunk. He stared out at the yard, at the house, at the field, and in the far distance, the barn. The sun was lower in the sky, yet nowhere near ready to set. He pulled in a deep breath, and hearing his brother call for him again, pushed off the back of the car. Sam dragged his feet to the passenger door and got in. The Impala was running, ready to go, but his brother seemed far from stepping on the gas.

Sam remained distracted in thought as his brother scavenged through the vehicle. Dean searched under the driver seat, then threw some things around in back, and finally leaned full down with his head awkwardly between his brother's feet and began digging beneath the passenger seat.

"Where the hell's the map?" He finally complained in explanation.

Sam spread his knees further apart as his brother began throwing random objects up into the car.

"How the hell did--" he hurled an old cheese burger bag clear into the back seat. "Shit, I've been looking for--" he flung half an EMF reader up onto the console. "August '06, she has one _sweet_ set of--" he shoved the playboy magazine straight back where he'd found it. "What the--" he pitched a small bag smack into his brother's lap. "It's gotta be-- jackpot!" He pulled the map from the furthest depths of the car, pushed himself back into his seat, and began to inspect it. As he followed the route with his finger, he rattled off a game plan of food, gas stops, and where they could be by nightfall; Sam heard none of it.

From the moment the shiny, red bag landed, Sam had found himself drawn into miserable thoughts of discontent. He stared at the taunting bag of Skittles and sadly reminisced. It was over, and closure or no closure it needed to be put behind him. He reached down, picked up the bag, tore it open, and dumped the entire thing out into his hand.

Totally oblivious, Dean threw the map into the back seat, shifted the car into drive, and only came to an abrupt halt when he noticed the expression on his kid brother's face.

"Sammy?" He asked curtly. "Hey, you sure you're okay?"

A slow smile spread across Sam's face as he stared down at the contents in his hand: every single Skittle from the bag… was blue.

Completely astonished, Sam laughed lightly to himself.

"Sammy-" his big brother repeated impatiently. "I asked if you're okay?"

"Yeah," Sam answered without thinking. He looked up at his brother, and realizing he actually meant what he had said, added, "yeah… I'm great." Dean narrowed his eyes, looked down at the Skittles, then back up at his brother.

"You drop even _one_ of those in my car," he threatened, "and I swear to god I'll shove you through that hole in the floor." Sam placed a firm hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Aww Dean," he consoled cheerfully, "don't be jealous. You know I'd choose you over Skittles any day."

Dean's arrogance hastily drained from his face. He eyed Sam for being the weird little brother that he was.

"Freak," he muttered. He shook Sam off his shoulder, then reached and shoved a beat-up tape into the deck. With an abrupt burst his music pounded into the car. Sam casually stretched forward and turned it up. Dean did an extreme double take, eyes landing on his kid brother. "Again, I'm gonna ask, you_ sure _you're okay?"

The younger Winchester smirked, lifted his hand, and shook as many Skittles into his mouth as would fit.

"Yup-" he mumbled, mouth full and grinning. Dean raised an amused eyebrow.

"Okay then," he said with a laugh, "we're outta here." He slapped the dashboard, stepped on the gas, and tore the Impala out of the lot.

As they revved along the winding dirt road, Sam looked down at the small pile of sugary blue candy which remained in his hand. Smiling to himself, he sunk back into the seat, sighed contently, and attempted to chew the giant wad of Skittles; they may not have been a rainbow of flavors, but they were sure as hell the best damn candies he had ever crammed into his mouth.

* * *

The End


End file.
